


Kiss/Fall Prompts

by aparticularbandit



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: F/F, an overall story, collection, than - Freeform, this is more anthology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-11-08 20:29:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 27,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20841545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aparticularbandit/pseuds/aparticularbandit
Summary: A collection of one-shots (some of which may be connected) dealing primarily with kiss prompts or fall prompts.





	1. breaking the kiss to say something

**1) breaking the kiss to say something, staying so close that you’re murmuring into each other’s mouths**

It’s impromptu the way _most_ things are nowadays – the easy brush of Rose’s fingers along her waist as Luisa leans across her lap for the remote then decides that laying across Rose’s lap is far more comfortable than shuffling to the other edge of the couch or even sitting back up and resting against her shoulder. She splays herself there, occasionally turning to look up at the woman she loves. Rose holds a book in one hand – Luisa can’t read the title of it from upside down, no matter how she cranes her head – and her other stays on Luisa – tracing circles on her waist, running up her arm, tangling with one of Luisa’s hands and giving it a light squeeze. A thin pair of glasses rest on the edge of her nose – another little vulnerability that Luisa has been offered since they’ve begun to live together, that Rose somehow does not have perfect eyesight.

Luisa curls on Rose’s lap so that she can face the redhead’s stomach, having given up – having _entirely forgotten_ – that she’d been thinking about turning their tv on. She slowly lifts the edge of Rose’s soft white blouse and presses an open mouthed kiss to her bare skin.

Rose gasps, and her hand squeezes Luisa’s again. “_Luisa_,” she murmurs, but when Luisa looks up, the book hasn’t moved at all. So she ignores the warning tone in Rose’s voice and does it again, tongue running along the sensitive bit of her waist.

“_Luisa._” This time, Rose’s voice is a rough hiss.

She takes this as encouragement, and instead of stopping, Luisa begins to suck on her flesh instead, teeth nipping at her just the smallest bit.

Rose lets out a sound that is somewhere between a groan and a low moan, and Luisa can barely hear the clunk as the book she’d been holding hits the table next to her. She does, however, feel Rose’s free hand tangling in her hair. It tightens against her skull and then pulls very carefully backward. There is a slight popping smacking noise as Luisa’s lips are pulled from Rose’s skin – as though she is a leech! – then her head is tilted backwards.

Luisa grins as her dark eyes meet Rose’s bright blue ones, so close to hers now, even with the glass between them. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice soft, as she schools her face into something a little more demure. “I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“No?” Rose asks, and her fingers begin to trace the edge of Luisa’s jaw.

“Oh, _no_.” Luisa isn’t quite breathless. She shifts on Rose’s lap, and one hand raises to wrap behind Rose’s head and draw her face down to hers. “I just thought you might _like_ that.”

“More than what I was reading?”

“Were you reading?” Luisa asks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice.” She leans up and breaches the distance just enough to capture Rose’s with her own.

Rose fairly _hums_ with pleasure, and she leans down all too eagerly for someone who previously had been entirely enthralled in the book she’d been reading. The hand that once was tracing Luisa’s face pushes back into her hair and pulls her upward, cradles the back of her head. She breaks the kiss early when she tugs away from her. “Stay still.”

Luisa drags her nails against Rose’s scalp, kneading softly. “Why?”

“You’ll see.” Rose brushes her nose against Luisa’s before kissing her again.

True to her word, Luisa stays as still as she can, waiting to see what Rose will do. Rose continues to cradle her head as her other hand moves along Luisa’s skin before resting gently at her waist. Then Rose moves out ever so carefully from underneath Luisa, continuing to keep her head aloft so there isn’t a dramatic dropping thunk against the arm of the sofa. Once Luisa is flat against the sofa cushions, Rose lowers her head against the arm.

Now Luisa can’t stay still, and her arm snakes around Rose’s waist, fingers brushing up underneath the hem of her shirt. She leans up eagerly to chase Rose’s kiss, knowing already where this is heading and more than pleased for the occurrence. “I thought,” she says, pulling back just enough to speak, her lips brushing against Rose’s as she does, “you were reading.”

“I was.”

Rose’s lips moving against hers – even just speaking – causes Luisa to kiss her again, short, albeit not chaste. She cups Rose’s cheek with one hand then slowly removes Rose’s glasses. “Okay?”

“Mmmm.” Rose nods, taking the glasses from Luisa’s hand and placing them atop her book on the side table. Then she kisses Luisa again, fingers already beginning to untie the belt cinching Luisa’s dress.

Luisa places a hand on Rose’s, pausing her actions. “Hold on,” she whispers. “Someone’s _impatient_.”

“Someone decided this was more important than what I was reading. _Someone_ wanted _attention_.”

“Yes,” Luisa says, looking up through her lashes at Rose and brushing their noses together again. “But not _hasty_ attention. I want you,” she ran her fingers along the bare skin at Rose’s waist, “focused,” she gave her a brief kiss and then pulled back before Rose could deepen it, “on _me_. Not on what you want. On _me_.” She searched Rose’s eyes. “Understand?”

Rose is breathless as she finally says, voice soft, “Yes.” She leans down, only for Luisa to shift ever so slightly away from her before she can kiss her again. “I said _yes_.”

“Quit pouting.” Luisa taps the tip of Rose’s nose and grins as the other woman scrunches her nose the slightest bit. Then she tilts her head up, making sure to keep eye contact with the woman she loves, only breaking it to glance ever so briefly at Rose’s lips then back up. She doesn’t kiss her at first, instead taking her lower lip between her teeth and giving it a gentle tug. When Rose’s lips part, she runs her tongue along her lower lip before seeking Rose’s out.

This time, when she breaks away, Rose’s eyes are closed, and she’s so close that when she swallows, her lips move against Luisa’s again.

“Ok?” Luisa asks again, so close that she feels as though she is speaking against Rose’s lips.

Rose chooses not to speak, only giving her a gentle nod before finally, quietly, whispering, “I love you.”

The words warm the center of Luisa’s chest, and she grins. “I love you, too,” she whispers, “but you don’t get to use that to make me go faster.”

Rose chuckles against Luisa’s lips, and the vibrations only make Luisa grow warmer. “I wasn’t,” Rose says, but the mischievous glint in her eyes says otherwise.

“Then you won’t mind if I take my sweet time,” Luisa says before giving Rose another, gentler kiss. “Will you?”

“Not at all.”


	2. shakers and movers

**2\. moving around while kissing, stumbling over things, pushing each other back against the wall/onto the bed**

Her lips find hers again – an uneasy tensing under her skin as she presses the other woman against the door until it shuts with a click so loud it breaks through the other woman’s muffled sounds. There are fingers digging through her hair, scratching against her scalp, tightening on her, as her own desperately push beneath the other woman’s light blue blouse.

“_Luisa_,” she whispers her lover’s name against her lips, and as though the sound of her own name wakens something else in her, the other pushes her back so that she is away from the wall. She stumbles, trips over something left on the floor, and Luisa pulls away just long enough to reach for the light.

“No, don’t.”

Luisa pauses, turns back to her with darkened eyes that seem even darker, and Rose moves back with a grin until the other woman comes to claim her. Her fingers find their way to Luisa’s face, pulling her upwards, and Luisa’s find their way beneath her rose-colored blouse – she wears her name even when it’s not apparent to everyone. She _gasps_. Luisa presses her fingers a little harder against the skin of her waist. Luisa pushes her back again, and she stumbles again, this time over a lego they’d forgotten to pack for their daughter’s trip to her aunt and uncle’s house.

“_Shit._”

It breaks the moment as much as it can be broken, and Rose bends, rubs at her ankle where it’s not twisted so much she can’t use it but it’s still _sore_ from the twist. Without a pause in momentum, Luisa takes Rose’s hand and brings it to her lips.

“Luisa.” Her voice takes on an amused but still annoyed tone.

“_Hm?_”

When Luisa looks up with eyes still dark, Rose leans down just enough to press another kiss to her lips. Without so much as a moment’s pause, Luisa deepens it, opening her lips greedily against hers, and Rose can feel herself succumbing again. her hand moves to Luisa’s neck, and this time when she steps back, she avoids the lego and instead finds herself pressed against the edge of their couch.

“_Lie back for me_,” Luisa murmurs before her lips move to Rose’s neck, and Rose can’t stop the low moan drawn from her lips. Luisa’s mouth moves lower, and Rose hops back so that she now sits on the couch’s arm. Luisa presses another open-mouthed kiss to her skin, this time to her collarbone, and begins to suck greedily at her flesh. She pulls away just enough to murmur again, this time her voice husked, “_Back_, Rose,” before pushing the rose-colored blouse away from her shoulder.

She doesn’t have to say it again.

Rose tumbles backward, her bright red curls splayed on the pillow beneath her, and Luisa climbs on top of her. She straddles her, fingers brushing beneath the edge of Rose’s blouse again, but when Rose moves to take her shirt off, Luisa stops her. “No,” she says, her voice soft. “Not yet. I’ll take it off when I want it off.”

It’s all too easy for Rose to nod her submission, to lean forward and press another kiss to the edge of Luisa’s jaw as the fingers along her skin move steadily upward, exploring. She finds the edge of Luisa’s light blue shirt again, and this time, when she lifts it, she places a kiss to Luisa’s waist, another to her hipbone before giving her a soft bite.

Luisa _moans_, a low, soft utterance, and her nails begin to scratch along Rose’s back. Her hips move, and although she is straddling her, Rose moves her closer, pushing up the rumpled edge of her skirt so that she can make her own mark on the inside of Luisa’s thigh. This time, the sound she elicits is louder, but when Rose tries to move her closer so that she might take her between her lips, Luisa resists.

Instead, Luisa brushes her fingers along Rose’s skin again and, on finding the edge of her shirt once more, pulls it up and over Rose’s head. Instead of bringing herself closer, she moves away and leans forward so that she is just resting atop Rose. Then she begins her own trail, alternating a bite or another sucking mark along Rose’s skin.

Rose _writhes_ beneath her.


	3. all about the curves

**3\. kissing so desperately that their whole body curves into the other person’s**

your eyes widen the moment you see her, and your heart skips a beat. it’s been months since she was declared dead for the second time, months since you feebly pushed her and then watched as she stumbled backwards too quickly for you to grab her forest green alien cloak (you haven’t been able to wear your mother’s sweater since, the color making you think of red hair against green cloth), months since she fell further than you ever would have imagined and you saw her body, small, now, with an alien tail thrust through her torso so thick that it’s a wonder her body didn’t split in two. something about momentum and the conservation of it or the lack of it – if you’d kept up with your physics, maybe you would understand how she fell through the roof access door _not_ onto the stairway leading up to it but through to the middle of the roof onto a statue that haunted your dreams for—

it _still_ haunts your dreams. she didn’t scream when she landed, and her voice was gone by the time the fire touched the curves of her hair, licking at it before finally devouring her whole. they said there was a corpse, but you know that corpse was only teeth and ash. the newspaper didn’t even identify her by name. you wanted to scream, to yell, to hit something with your fists, but there was nothing.

there was nothing.

you see her and you’re not certain it’s her. no, you’re _absolutely certain_ it is, but you’re not certain that she’s really there. you’ve had trouble in the past with hallucinations and there’s the possibility that this could be a ghost – _you did see her die, after all_ – but as she passes along the beachfront, she stumbles – _which isn’t like her at all; she never stumbled before_ but then, you remember, she _did_ stumble once, and it was her downfall, and she died – and pulls the edge of her dress out of the water that has soaked it and just barely runs into the people walking by. they see her. they react. altogether, that means she is very much real. you don’t tend to hallucinate more than one person at a time.

when she looks up again, her eyes meet yours and there’s this flinch, this wince of a thing, and you know, _you know because you know her_, that she’s upset that she’s stumbled because she was trying to be cool and dramatic and walk to you across a beach, all barefoot in the sand, like everyone _knows_ that’s a bad idea because _who knows what could be in the sand_, but you can’t wear shoes either because sand is coarse and gritty and it _gets everywhere_—

but you like the sand. you always have.

and when she sees you, she stops where she is, and she waits, and you have a choice, but the choice has already been made, and you can’t stop yourself from running to meet her, because you never could stop yourself, not even when she was supposed to be dying.

and you can’t stop yourself from kissing her.

you can’t. it’s in your blood, as desperate a need as the need to breathe, to eat, to drink, to sleep – only you’ve been under the waves for so long, unable to break the surface until your lips meet hers again. you’ve jumped, _you have_, and she’s holding you so close to her that it’s a wonder you can move any closer at all, but you find a way to do it, both hands cupping her face so that she can’t break free even if she wanted to (and you know that she doesn’t because she never has, it was always you who wanted to fly away but you’d been kept with her, not the way a bird is kept in a cage or with clipped wings, but because like a crow you’d seen something beautiful in her and you’d had to find a way to take it and keep it for your very own and you’d never quite figured out how to do it). your hands move from her face to her hair, and you’re still trying to move closer, and although she keeps hold of you, she stumbles again because you keep moving forward, and the two of you fall into the sand, still unable to separate yourselves until the first wave breaks the shoreline and washes over you.

she tastes of salt and sweat and tears, of running and running and running until it’s hard to breathe and there is a stitch in your side, of campfires and burnt marshmallows and melted chocolate without graham crackers, and when you pull your lips away and open your eyes, she is still there, she is still there, she is still there, her eyes as blue as the waves washing over you and trying to bring you back into the sea, but you’ve landed here with her, somewhere in the curve of that smirk pulling at her lips, and her eyes may be ocean to the forest in yours, but she has always been the land to which this broken bird has returned to cradle herself when she needs a place to be safe.

she shivers and you curve against her and lay your head on her chest so that you can hear her heartbeat its steady thrum beneath her skin. the waves come over you a third time and when she kisses the edge of your jaw, you know that you could stay here with her or you could go anywhere with her as long as it’s the two of you together the way it was for all those years before you came back. you don’t have anything to lose anymore. you can leave and come back without her and they will never know the difference and maybe that’s why she had to die in the first place. maybe it was all a game of pretend to see how you would respond.

you didn’t drink this time, but you are finding that you are drunk on her.

_“you’re alive,”_ you whisper, and she nods, and you say it again as though saying it the first time wasn’t enough, and when she gives you that smirk the third time you say it, you try to kiss the smug smile from her lips because that’s one of the things you know that you’ve always been good at.


	4. too much time with emilio makes the heart grow fond or something like that

**4) throwing their arms around the other person, holding them close while they kiss**

it feels like it’s been years since she’s seen luisa, even though it’s only been a matter of months. emilio dragged her away for one of his business trips and decided that it was a good idea to make it an extended second honeymoon. she’d had a hard enough time the first time, and while feigning her enjoyment of his sexual shenanigans has gotten easier since their marriage (not because he’s gotten any better, but because she’s grown accustomed to what he wants to feel and hear and can turn her body mostly on autopilot while her mind is _anywhere_ else), being stuck with him – and only him – for months has been _excruciating_.

she’d been sent ahead – _at least that’s what he thought_ – to make sure everything is as it needs to be before he arrives, but she’s also there at least a month ahead of him. _absence makes the heart grow fonder_ and all that – which _isn’t_ wrong when it comes to people you actually love, as she’s come to find, but is a lie when considering _anyone else_.

the phone rings once, twice, three times before luisa picks up, and her heart sinks at the idea that this time the other woman won’t answer. she hasn’t had much free time to call or even to warn her that she was returning, but at the calm sound of her voice on the other end, she relaxes. “i’m here. are you free? i need to see you.”

and, against everything she’s thought, luisa say _yes_.

of course, she says yes. she always says yes. no matter how much she pretends she has moved on, rose knows she really hasn’t, just like she never has either. they only need to be drawn to each other, and they go, like moths to the flame – only _she_ is the moth and _luisa_ is the flame, when before she has only ever been the flame devouring those drawn closest to her. (and no one has ever truly been close. why would they be when she hasn’t cared about them?)

luisa is quiet when she arrives, the door shutting quietly behind her, and her fingers reach up to brush the curve of her jaw, the sharp edge of her cheekbone, just _tracing_ without stopping. “did you miss me?” she asks, her voice low, but even in the throes of her seduction and the confidence she is trying to exude, her eyes shift, searching, the hazel looking for something grounded in the depths of her sea.

“you know that i did.” rose is gentle when she places her hand over luisa’s, rubbing her thumb along the back of her hand. “and you?”

instead of giving her an answer, luisa leans up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss as gentle as the touch of rose’s thumb across her skin to her lips. she’s soft – she isn’t _always_ soft, but today, _today_ she _is_, and rose responds in turn. she hums gentle against her lips and breaks away just enough to brush their noses together. “i have a month,” she says, her voice soft, eyes focused completely on the little woman. “today is yours. what do you want to do with me?”

luisa grins, and her hand moves to rose’s neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of her neck. “stay here with me,” she says, and she leans up to brush another kiss across rose’s lips.

“i think that can be arranged,” rose replies, and she lifts luisa against her.

luisa gasps and throws her arms around rose’s neck, holding on tight, and wraps her legs around rose’s waist. “you know i don’t like to be lifted!”

“mmmmmm…i _do_ remember hearing that somewhere.”

but luisa just gives her a dark stare, and when their lips meet again, luisa is no longer gentle.

but she can handle that.


	5. hands on

**hands on the other person’s back, fingertips pressing under their top, drawing gentle circles against that small strip of bare skin that make them break the kiss with a gasp**

it’s not the first time, and rose is certain it won’t be the last, that she’s found herself _not_ taking care of her _stepdaughter_ (and she hates the word, reviles it, the taste of bile on her lips whenever she is forced to refer to luisa in such a way) in the way she is believed to be helping her but in another way entirely.

it’s not as though she _minds_.

if anything, she quite _enjoys_ being the person luisa calls when she is at her most vulnerable, as though none of the rest of her family exists – and, to her credit, given the way they treat her _or other people_, they really shouldn’t. rafael _tried_, but he was quickly losing his patience – or _would_ if luisa stepped too far in the wrong direction – rose had known too many people _just like him_. and her husband? emilio? his love and attention to his eldest daughter was his one redeeming quality in a long list of treating the people beneath him…honestly, he treated them far better than most people in his position might. emilio, perhaps, would have the right to exist in their world if she weren’t married to him, if she didn’t loathe him with almost every pore of her being (_almost_ because the care he had for luisa forgave him some minor flaws – as a father-in-law, she might not have hated him, but as a husband, he is given no freedom).

but none of that particularly _matters_ right now so much as sitting on luisa’s couch does with her tongue down her throat and her hands in her hair. rose has read bad romance novels – they’re a guilty pleasure that she hides here at luisa’s, by which she means that luisa has the same guilty pleasure and rose steals them from under her nose when emilio is nowhere to be seen because there’s just something comforting about pulp lesbian fiction where they’re together throughout the entire thing, despite whatever the horror monster of the month is (this month it was _werewolves_ because luisa had been on that _twilight_ binge again, which rose could never quite understand – what was so _interesting_ about vampires and werewolves and _straight romance_? and it doesn’t matter how many times luisa explains that she likes to picture all of the romances as between two women instead of straight and it doesn’t matter how many times luisa likes to imagine the good ending as between all three of the women instead of bella having to choose, rose has never been able to understand it. but she _does_ like the pulp novels that come along as a result of it – she likes the rough tumble of the monsters – werewolf _or_ vampire – the biting implied in both of them brings out luisa’s own desire to bite and her love of _being_ bitten, and rose has enjoyed that swing towards her direction, even if she is still _constantly_ gentle with her. rose loves to leave marks behind as a reminder to luisa that she is still hers, and she hates that luisa’s marks must be covered by any made by her husband – or more easily explained as normal bruises instead of something else) – so she _knows_ that describing the sensation as having her tongue down her throat is _extremely_ cliché, especially since that’s not exactly what’s happening.

and yet—

rose has never considered herself one to ramble the way that luisa does, but it appears as though the other woman can get her mind spiraling with no release. well, _of course_ she can. luisa is _very good_ at prolonging release as long as she wants. that’s part of why she loves her, isn’t it? she _likes_ being teased.

and, perhaps even _more_ importantly, she likes _being_ a tease.

her fingers find the edge of luisa’s shirt as the other moves to straddle her and curve beneath it so that they can just brush along her skin. luisa lets out a little murmur of encouragement, and at the soft sound, she begins to use the tip of her nails to trace gentle circles along her skin. it’s a moment before she can feel luisa’s thumb brushing along the curve of her hip before repeating the motion on her skin. she digs a little deeper, the nail scratching a little harsher, and luisa breaks away with a little gasp. her eyes, the color of the trunks in a darkened forest, meet hers, and she smiles, licking her lips.

“_harder_, please.”


	6. sleepy kisses mwah

**lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up**

she can feel consciousness approaching, but she doesn’t want it to come, still clinging to the last little bit of her dream. it had seemed so _important_ while she was there. but consciousness makes it seem so far away.

she snuggles a little closer to the redhead next to her, burrowing her head into her soft chest, which is a much better pillow than anything else she’s ever been able to use. “five more minutes,” she murmurs, although she’s sure it sounds more like _fimomin_ instead of anything particularly intelligent.

“mmmmm,” rose murmurs in reply, and she presses a kiss to her forehead, running a hand soothingly through her hair. “longer.”

luisa can’t help but nod into her chest before tilting her head back just enough to press a kiss to her lips. then she lowers her head again, presses another kiss to the nape of her neck, then curls closer yet again, pulling the redhead’s arm around her waist. “don’t move.”

“nnnnnnnhhhhh.” rose rests her head atop luisa’s, and the arm wrapped around her waist tightens its hold just the smallest bit. “_you_ don’t move.”

“i wasn’t _going_ to move,” luisa says, her voice a soft whine. “_you_ were.”

“sssshhhh.”

luisa’s face contorts into a scowl. doesn’t matter if rose can see it or not. “don’t you shush me.”

“_you said five more minutes. now shush._”

“don’t shush me.” luisa shifts from her place against rose’s chest and moves up to kiss her cheek. “i don’t like being shushed,” she says, pressing a kiss to what she thinks is the tip of rose’s nose. “shushing doesn’t shush me.”

“_shu—_” rose starts to say, only for luisa to kiss her lips. she tries again when luisa pulls away, only to be silenced with another, deeper kiss. this time, rose hums in response, fingers curling against the bare skin of luisa’s waist where they’d been guided earlier, and when luisa pulls back, she murmurs, her voice soft, “_more._”

luisa smiles, smug, and curls up against rose’s chest again, hiding her face in the crook of rose’s neck. “after my five more minutes.” she interlaces her fingers gently with the ones curled at her waist. “and no more shushing.”

rose lets out a disappointed whine, but she doesn’t say anything in dispute, instead settling back against their pillows.


	7. goodbye kisses

**7) routine kisses where the other person presents their cheek/forehead for the hello/goodbye kiss without even looking up from what they’re doing**

It isn’t until she’s standing at the door with her hand on the doorknob that Rose realizes something is missing. She stands there staring at empty space and blinks a couple of times then squints at the room in front of her. Something’s…wrong. Her hand moves to each of her pockets in turn – phone, keys, wallet – the latter of which is chained to her belt loop in case it falls out while she’s working (the keys hooked to the same chain) – but she has everything.

“_Rose!_” Luisa calls her in a raspy voice from their bedroom, a sound that is quickly followed by a couple of hacking coughs.

Rose winces at the sound. “Yes?” She’s hesitant, not wanting to move from the door, instead contemplating what the thing is that she doesn’t have.

”_Come back!_”

Her girlfriend’s voice is still just as raspy, and Rose stops in the kitchen just long enough to grab another mug of rose petal tea – she’s going to be late now, she _knows_ she’s going to be late, so might as well make the lateness worth it. She sets the mug on Luisa’s bedside table and kneels down in front of her. “What’s wrong?” she asks, her own voice soft as her eyes search Luisa’s sweaty, feverish face. “Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

Luisa’s face scrunches up. “No. I’m a medical doctor; I can take care of myself.” Then she takes Rose’s face in one hand and turns her head just enough so that she can lean forward and press a kiss to her cheek. “_There_,” she says, collapsing back on her fluffy pillows. “Now you can go.”

“That’s it?” Rose asks, brows furrowing. “That’s all you wanted?”

Luisa nods with a soft _mmhm_ then coughs a couple of times, turning away and covering her mouth with the crook of her elbow in what Rose knows is an attempt to avoid getting her sick, too. “Always kiss you before you leave. Just in case—”

“In case what?”

Luisa turns back. Her eyes are soft, and her smile is softer as she looks her over. She reaches out again and cups Rose’s chin with both hands before leaning back down and kissing her forehead, just beneath her bright blue bandana. Then she pulls back again. “In case,” she repeats, thumb brushing Rose’s cheek.

Rose hums in contentment and turns her head just enough to press a kiss to the palm of Luisa’s hand. Then she purses her lips. “You’re all covered in sick.”

“I _am_ sick.”

Rose pulls out of her hold and sticks her tongue out. “All these kisses, are you trying to make me sick enough to stay home, too?”

“That would be a bonus.” Luisa smiles and then pats Rose’s shoulder. “Go work. I’ll be okay by myself.”

Rose considers staying instead. It isn’t as though they _need_ the money she gets from working. They’re well off – not just from her own illegally obtained funds but also from the inheritance Luisa received from her father’s death (which they still avoid talking about almost as much as they avoid talking about Emilio at all. Luisa only sees his good points, and while Rose will concede that those exist, that period of time – and thinking about her relationship with him – only makes her uncomfortable). She could afford to take a full day, if she wanted.

“_Go_,” Luisa whispered, patting Rose’s shoulder again. “You like work.”

“I like you better.”

“Of course, you do.” Luisa’s smile grows smug, and she settles against her pillows. “But I don’t need you here. I’ll probably just be asleep. You don’t need to be here for that.”

“But you’re cute when you sleep.”

Despite her words, Rose stands, brushing her hands against her denim overalls. She leans forward and presses a kiss of her own to Luisa’s sweaty forehead. “Feel better. Call me if you need anything or if you get worse or—”

“I’ll be _fine_, Rose.” Luisa takes her hand and gives it a little squeeze. “Go now. Don’t be late.”

Rose shakes her head. “I’ll already be late. I felt like—” Then she stops, and her brows raise in understanding. The thing she was missing wasn’t anything material, and now that she has it, she doesn’t feel _off_. She looks down at her girlfriend and cups her cheek with one hand. “I’ll be back.”

“I know you will.”

Then, just as Rose reaches the front door again, there comes a call in that same sick, rasping voice: “_Don’t die on me, okay?_”

Rose laughs. “I’ll do my best, but no promises.” Her fingers tap on the doorknob a couple of times, and then, without another moment’s hesitation, she’s gone.


	8. this is not what i meant it to be

**8\. being unable to open their eyes for a few moments afterward**

The first time they kiss, she’s prepared for it. She initiates, even. She walks into it with her eyes half-lidded and closes them at the moment of contact and pulls away with eyes wide open to fireworks coloring the sky with fire that will fade before their sparks land on the ground. The darkness without seems to be illuminated the same as the darkness within, although she’d never be one to say it that way.

Her kiss after that is desperate and greedy and wanting. She can’t put a name to the desire that builds within her. It’s different than the physical one she’s had for other, _lesser_ creatures, and if she were a creature of fear, it would scare her. She thinks she tastes the fireworks in her kiss, but really she just tastes fire.

* * *

It’s years later, lying in bed together, that she feels a sudden surge of that need she still cannot name – it cannot be the _love_ bullshit the songs talk about because there’s no comparing what they say with whatever this emotion is. She does not love her in words because those are empty and hollow – she has too many times said one thing and meant another, although never with the woman curled up at her side – and she curves onto her side to trace her fingers along the dented line of her spine, her thumb pausing on the beauty mark on her waist, just to the right. She taps it once then smiles and bends forward—

“_Don’t_,” her love murmurs and turns so that it’s her belly-button she’s facing instead of the beauty mark.

She leans further anyway and kisses just to the right of the scar her mother left from making her, waiting for the answering hand to tangle in her curls.

The submarine bubbles as it moves, but neither of them hears it.

* * *

The last time they kiss – and she knows, she knows, _she knows_ it is the last time but her heart refuses to hear it – she is cold. The costumes aren’t made for rooftops or the constant breeze of helicopter fans, and she shivers. She tries not to because she knows that makes her look weak. She doesn’t want to look weak in front of anyone, let alone _them_.

There are no bullets in her gun. There are never bullets in her gun anymore. She doesn’t _kill_ people anymore. She’s a dog without teeth, all bark and no bite, fed on gruel and pre-chewed food the same as a baby chick swallowing regurgitated worms from its mother’s beak. Only she has no mother and no owner, and she’s been left alone to starve.

It’s not the way _she_ makes it out to be in the novel that comes out later. She reads it, of course, because she wants to know the lies being spread about her, and while, if alive, she _could_ sue for slander, they believe that she is dead and to come out otherwise would be to destroy what little is left of herself.

She closes her eyes and pretends that she doesn’t feel her fingers taking the gun from her hands. She closes her eyes and pretends that she tastes fireworks again or even feels sparks along her skin. She closes her eyes and thinks, at one point, there was something, and it beats in the center of her chest in the hole where her heart is supposed to be.

When Luisa steps away with the gun, Rose steps back through the roof access door, and she tastes nothing but gold and ash.


	9. should i stay or should i go

**9) one small kiss, pulling away for an instant, then devouring each other**

“Don’t go,” Luisa murmurs, fingers barely brushing the edge of Rose’s sleeve, enough to touch and take them between her fingers and pull back just the slightest bit. “You’re always in such a rush to go in the morning, and I know no one expects you until later.”

Rose hesitates.

“C’mon,” Luisa pulls the shirt sleeve towards her. It’s not enough to make Rose move, and she leans forward, the comforter falling from around her chest, so that she can reach further and take her wrist instead. “Stay with me. Just for a little bit.”

It would be so easy to stay.

“_Rose_,” and it’s the way her name sounds in her voice, that gentle chiding for staying turned away, and the knowledge of _exactly_ how her face will look when she turns back to her – smug, she’s always so smug, and she has every reason to be – Rose has always been the spider drawing others into her web and now, here she is, stuck in Luisa’s – all of this gives her greater pause. Luisa draws ever closer and presses a kiss to the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. “Don’t leave.”

Rose turns.

And of course – there it is – that smug smile that grows ever more smug as she turns to her because in that moment they both know that Luisa has won. (The smile will be gone when Rose leaves because as much as Luisa wins – as much as she always seems to win these small moments – it must seem to her as though she’s lost the battle. That’s a lie, too; Luisa won the battle the moment they first kissed, although she doesn’t know it. It isn’t as though she _likes_ her husband.)

“Luisa,” she says, and her voice is very careful and very specific. “I can’t stay.”

“Why not?”

_Because if I stay, I won’t leave._

But the hesitation, as much as it is there, doesn’t keep her from sitting on the edge of Luisa’s bed and cupping her face with one hand. Luisa leans into her touch the way a pet might, but unlike those creatures, she curves to press another kiss to the center of her palm. Rose’s wary expression fades into an affectionate smile as her thumb tweaks Luisa’s nose, brokers into a satisfied grin as Luisa turns eyes of fire up at her. Her brows raise slightly. “You’re sure you want me to stay?”

Luisa answers with another kiss just to the left of the one she’d just left.

Rose’s hand moves, fingers lifting Luisa’s chin, and she meets her eyes. “I should go,” she murmurs before leaning down and giving Luisa a gentle, chaste kiss. She pulls back just enough to meet Luisa’s eyes again, to search them, her fingers lingering on the soft skin of her chin.

This time, Luisa doesn’t move.

Maybe her breath is caught the way that Rose’s often is in this situation, except that Luisa is never the one who leaves but always the one who stays.

Her hand moves to curve through Luisa’s hair – she knew better than to try and give her even the softest of kisses – and this time when she leans down again, there isn’t a break before Luisa’s hands are in hers, as well, mashing the perfectly coifed waves she’d spent so much time crafting in preparation for her leaving.

But, in truth, she knew the moment Luisa spoke that she would stay, and she knew they would end like this, her giving in to Luisa’s desire just as much as Luisa gave in to her own. It was always like this, and it always would be, for as long as she was alive to allow it.


	10. intentions

**10) staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in**

She takes a breath.

This was _intentional_. She knows Luisa well enough to know that it was intentional. There, the woman she loves, in a dress cut short enough to expose the legs that _she knows_ Luisa loves (and Luisa is right; she _does_ have nice legs, although they’re not what draws her eyes first), with the top cut _equally_ low enough to show the bare curves of her breasts, with something like a sash tight around her waist to emphasize the curves of her hips, and, when she turns away, with a back cut so low that the curved line of her spine is exposed to the warm Miami air. She is _intentionally_ enticing in a way that isn’t meant to lure just anyone to her; it’s meant to lure _her_, with the entirety of Luisa’s body as bait.

She sets her jaw so that she doesn’t lick her lips, and she swallows so that her throat is clear to speak.

Her husband, such as he is, kisses her cheek once before wandering away to speak with other clients, and as long as _he_ is the one to wander away first, then there is no problem with her own desire to move and intermingle and—

Who is she kidding? She doesn’t want to _intermingle_.

She meets her stepdaughter – she is just as intentional using that word to hold herself in herself – by the bar, where the other woman has a glass of what looks like water, fingers running up and down the condensation lingering on it in the hot, sticky air. Her bare hand rests on the counter, fingers tapping on it gently. “Can I buy you a drink?” she asks.

“No, thank you,” Luisa murmurs, her voice just as soft as hers is. “Thirty-four days sober.” Her head tilts to one side, and she smiles, and she _knows_ that she’s been sober for far longer because she’s been there as many steps of the way as she’s been able to, but they’re playing roles, now, instead of playing themselves.

Her eyes flick briefly to Luisa’s lips and then back up to meet her eyes. “You look beautiful.”

“Mmm.” Luisa’s eyes drift from her face to over her shoulder and then back to meet her eyes again. “I think I’ve had a little too much to drink. I’ll be right back.”

She watches as Luisa walks away – straight to the nearest bathroom. They’ve played this dance before, too, and something about it swirls in the pit of her stomach. It’s the echoing words – _I have a girlfriend. Allison. She likes to have sex in bathrooms._ – and she isn’t Allison and never wants to be, even if she does want what Allison has (_wouldn’t_ have, if she decided to pursue, if she found a way to throw off the shackles holding her here instead).

And yet she still finds herself wandering along a few minutes later, after other, lesser, women have left. Once there, she bends over the sink, washing her hands under cool, cold water that doesn’t seem to make her feel any better. Luisa locks the bathroom door behind them before her hands join hers in the sink – all water and soap and cleansing.

Luisa’s lips meet her neck.

She turns to face her again, hands still wet. “Not here.”

“No,” Luisa murmurs, “but you’ll find me after.”

“_You’ll find me_,” she corrects, but she likes the way her love takes charge in moments like this. Still, she needs to take that power back in what little way she can. Her eyes flick to Luisa’s lips – intentional, intentional, everything they do is so intentional – and back up to her eyes before, finally, she moves against her.

She wonders, sometimes, if there are any lips as soft as Luisa’s are against her own, and she’s certain that there never can be.


	11. can't stay away...ish

**11) when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more**

It’s been…months.

_She_ called it off. Emilio had finally proposed – like she had expected – and she couldn’t have her entire bachelorette party be planned by a woman who was deeply in love with her. Or _she could_, but there was a certain level of _obvious_ that Rose felt as though many of the participants – primarily her so-called “friends” from law school, who weren’t particularly happy about the occasion, whether it was her marriage or her marriage to an older man or her marriage to a rich man or simply her decision to retire from law to pursue the partnership of her upcoming marriage – could pick up on.

And that…was hard. The weight of Luisa’s love for her wasn’t too much to bear, but the publicity of it – especially when they could not be public for obvious reasons (to her, anyway) and when she’d told Luisa that she was trying to keep herself…that she wasn’t ready to come out and that she was invested in the marriage to Emilio (for reasons that she wasn’t going to explain to Luisa because she couldn’t imagine those going over well)—

She’d ended it. She’d had to. She’d needed to earlier on and hadn’t been able to stop herself from continuing, and now it was almost imperative.

Almost.

Luisa _could_ keep her mouth shut when she wanted to. They _could_ keep themselves behind locked doors. But sometimes she felt as though she wanted to be found, and she knew that Luisa felt that way, too.

And they couldn’t be found. There would be consequences if—

None of it mattered, really. It had been months since she’d been alone in a room with Luisa, months since Luisa had wanted anything to do with her. Emilio wasn’t much for a long engagement – Rose had known that before pursuing him – but something about the way Luisa was acting was throwing him off. Couldn’t quite plan a wedding when he was worried about his eldest daughter who struggled with….

Rose knew what Luisa was struggling with and it had nothing to do with what Emilio _thought_ she was struggling with.

But, finally, Rose cornered her. Emilio was off on a business trip and had taken his son with him in an attempt to get his head on straight (which Rose doubted would ever happen unless said son was cornered with something far more dangerous to his lifestyle than simply his father’s disappointment), and she’d taken time off to meet Luisa at her office.

Not at her house. Luisa could _avoid her_ at her house. Pretend to not be there, not answer the door, find a way to slip out in an attempt to not be seen (Luisa was not as good at this as Rose was), or come up with some reason that she needed to be leaving and on her way out as soon as Rose arrived.

Her office, however, in the middle of the day, when Rose knew that she was busy and had more appointments before her visit and after it and _wouldn’t_ be using the time for her lunch hour _and didn’t realize she had an appointment with Rose until she walked into the room—_

Luisa’s lips pressed together as soon as she saw her, but much to her dismay, she didn’t say anything. Her eyes looked over Rose in her gentle dress and skirt and then lowered as though to try and avoid seeing her as much as possible. “How can I help you, Rose?”

“We need to talk.”

“We’ve already talked, Rose. We don’t need to—”

Rose moved close enough to Luisa to press the door shut behind her, to hold her there with her arm and the closeness of her body. She didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to _have_ to say anything. Her eyes met Luisa’s and held them long enough that she knew Luisa would notice when her eyes flicked ever so briefly to her lips and then back up, softening. “You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, her voice intentionally disappointed. “I thought—” Then she shook her head, lowering it, as though wary, confused as to how she was acting. She let her eyes fall on Luisa’s lips again, and as though on an impulse <strike>(it wasn’t an impulse)</strike>, she leaned forward and captured Luisa’s lips with her own.

She loved this. (She hated this.) She loved this.

Her heart tightened all at once and then released as she relaxed into the other woman.

Almost as soon as she began, Luisa was pulling away and back. “I’m sorry,” she began, pressing her hand against Rose’s chest, freezing as she realized she’d done so, but then didn’t move her hand away from where she’d placed it. When she continued, her voice was even softer. “Are you,” she swallowed once, licking her lips, “are you _sure_ you—”

Rose pressed her lips against Luisa’s again, stifling the words on the tip of her tongue, and this time, Luisa didn’t move away. This time, _Luisa_ relaxed, and her hand moved to lock the door behind her before curling around Rose’s waist, moving up beneath her shirt, nails scratching along her skin.

This was what she’d wanted, after all.

They _shouldn’t_. It was imperative that they _didn’t_.

And yet, despite the dangers of it – or perhaps because of them – Rose was here again. It was easier to maintain control of sorts this way.

…and, more than anything else, she enjoyed it.


	12. uuuuuhhhhh

**12) a hoarse whisper “kiss me”**

There have been very few hours of her life that Rose would consider truly good. She is certain there are even less of hers than there are of Luisa’s, if she asked her, but it’s perhaps not the _best_ time to ask, considering. They have spent the past few hours together – which have gradually grown more and more likely to be added into those hours of _good_ – or, if she’s completely honest, Rose would definitively call them good, even if she were only to keep them to herself for her own personal perusal. She couldn’t say whether or not _Luisa_ called them good, although she hoped….

Well. There’s a lot of hoping and thinking and considering she _could_ do, but it was _hard_ to do it **right now**, considering the head pressed between her legs and the lips on the secret place between her thighs and—

Her fingers tangled into Luisa’s rumpled hair instead of the sheets or the mattress, and she tugged twice on her locks.

Luisa moved – and _oh_, despite the fact that she’d _asked_ for her to look up and check in with her, she _wanted_ her to keep—

Her fingers brushed through Luisa’s hair a little too fast, brushed along her face, nails a little too harsh on her skin, and Luisa pressed her thumbs into each of Rose’s bare thighs as she stretched up. “Did you _want_ something?” she asked, her voice soft, and she licked her lips.

Rose’s fingers moved to Luisa’s chin and lifted it gently, and as she moved them away, closer to her, Luisa followed, stretching up towards her. “You weren’t _done_,” Luisa said with the barest hint of a pout. Her fingers began to trace circles on her inner thigh, and Rose shivered.

“Kiss me,” Rose whispered, as her fingers drew Luisa closer to her.

“Say that again?”

“_Kiss me_,” Rose said, her voice hoarse with her want, and she took Luisa fingers, moving them carefully to the spot where her mouth had been only moments before. Her eyes met Luisa’s, breath ragged. She leaned up just enough to brush her nose against Luisa’s, to brush her lips against hers. “Please. _Please._”

“Is _that_ what you want?”

Rose nodded.

“And what will you give me?”

“Finish,” Rose whined, “but _kiss_ me.”

Luisa moved to brush her lips against Rose’s, and at first she did nothing of the sort. Then, gently, as her fingers began to take up what her mouth had been drawn from, her lips moved against hers – slow at first, and then more and more as Rose grew desperate beneath her.

A _good_ hour, if Rose were asked. A very good hour.


	13. mine

**13) following the kiss with a series of kisses down the neck**

Her lips capture those of her lover’s again.

It is not the first time – as far as she knows, it won’t be the last – but it _is_ the first time in a very long time that she doesn’t have to tell herself to prepare for the worst, to know that as soon as she wakes up the other woman will be gone or in the midst of leaving, to try and convince herself that this is all she is really good for – not love, not hope, not certainty – just a good lay and that’s all. In fact, the only time she felt even remotely like this was their _actual_ first time together, only to wake up alone in their shared hotel room without even a number to call should she hope to see her again.

Sometimes, after, she’d wondered if never seeing each other again would have been a better alternative to what they had after. But if she hadn’t made it through that, she wouldn’t have had this.

She probably _shouldn’t_ have this, but she’s trying not to think about that. Her brother and the mess of his life and the murder her lover had left behind didn’t have any room in this space they’d built together. There were no laws under the sea – only them, and the waves, and the fish that sometimes passed by their windows.

“Mine,” she murmured, her voice very, very quiet, speaking more to herself than to the other woman as she kissed the back of her neck and wrapped her arms around her.

Her lover turned in her arms to face her, brow furrowing. “What did you say?”

“_Mine_,” she repeated, a little louder, and before the other could say anything to refute her, she captured her lips with her own.

The other woman hummed against her lips, her own creeping into a smile, and when she was finished, she pressed another kiss to the sweet spot at the edge of her jaw, murmuring _mine_ again, then another just next to her pulse point as she whispered it again, continuing onward until she reached where her neck spread into her shoulders. Then she pressed a kiss to the hollow of her neck, another to her collarbone, and then leaned up, hovering just above her lover, who watched her with bright blue eyes.

“You’re all mine, aren’t you?” she asked, eyes searching hers. “I can say that now, and it’s true.”

But the redhead didn’t say anything in response, only reaching up to give her a kiss of her own.

She didn’t know if that meant yes or not, but she hoped it did.


	14. she just had a kid rose leave her alone

**14) starting with a kiss meant to be gentle, ending up in passion**

“_No._”

Luisa elongates the word in a chiding tone of voice the way you might with a cat trying to stick its nose into the food on your plate where it doesn’t belong. She runs her hand along Rose’s face as the redhead curls up in bed next to her and presses a kiss to her neck then pushes her away as she begins to suck gently on the same spot. “I said _no_.”

Rose lets herself be pushed just enough away to lift her head with downcast eyes and her lips contorted into a pout. Her crystal blue eyes glance up through her long lashes. She doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t look at me like that either.” Luisa cups Rose’s face and draws it up towards hers so that their eyes can meet on equal footing. “I know you don’t want to listen to the doctor, but I _just_ had a baby and I’m _sore_. You can at least listen to me, right?” She runs her fingers along Rose’s jaw, thumb pressing on her chin. “Right?”

Rose sighs, her eyes glancing away to the shut door. She was probably thinking about their newborn daughter, finally asleep in her crib in the room next door. Then her gaze returned to meet Luisa’s. “I can kiss you without—”

“_Liar._” Luisa couldn’t help but interrupt her wife as she spoke. “You’d keep going until I told you to stop, so I’m telling you now, _stop_.” She leans forward so that their foreheads just touch. “Because if I don’t tell you now, you know I’ll get caught up in it and then it’ll hurt and my _poor vagina_ is already _so worn out_ and needs time to _breathe and heal_ and it’s not going to get that with your fingers—”

“Would my mouth be better?”

“_Rose._” Luisa tries to give her wife a stern glare. “Just because you’re _gentle_ doesn’t mean it won’t still _hurt_.” She tapped her chest with one finger. “You,” again to emphasize her word, “will just,” and again, “have to,” one more time, “_wait_.” Then she gave her nose a quick kiss. “Okay?”

Rose wrapped her arms around Luisa’s waist, fingers tracing circles on the bare skin of her waist as they curled just under the edge of her sleep shirt. “I guess I can do that,” she said with a frown. Then she gave an exaggerated sigh. “Can I at least kiss you? Just once?”

Luisa pressed her lips together, considering, and her eyes flicked down to Rose’s lips and lingered there. “I’ll kiss you,” she said, her voice very hesitant and slow. “That way I can stop when I think it’s too much or I’m getting too involved.”

When Rose nodded her agreement, her own gaze turning towards Luisa’s slightly parted lips, Luisa moved slightly forward so that their lips can just meet. She can feel Rose hum in contentment, her fingers stilling their circles on her bare skin and instead pressing ever so slightly as though to urge her forward. At her urging, Luisa’s moved closer, her lips parting even more eagerly, her teeth tugging on Rose’s lower lip.

“Wait,” Rose said, her breath hushed, pulling away just long enough to search Luisa’s eyes. “I thought you said you couldn’t—”

“I changed my mind,” Luisa murmured, her eyes growing dark. “The doctor didn’t say anything about _you_.”

Rose’s brows rose, the questioning expression on her face tuning into a smug smile. “You know, you’re right. I didn’t hear anything about that at all.”

Luisa nodded. “But you have to keep quiet. If you wake Mia, _you_ are paying for it.”

“_Me_ keep quiet?” Rose barked a laugh. “_You_’re the one we have to worry about with that.”

But before Rose could make another comment in that direction, Luisa kissed her again, shutting her up until she decided she could speak again.


	15. what now

**15) a gentle “i love you” whispered after a soft kiss, followed immediately by a stronger kiss**

“I love you.”

Luisa hadn’t expected to hear the words herself. She says them a lot to the love of her life – always has, ever since she’s realized that is the nature of what she feels for her – and hadn’t really stopped saying them even when Rose had told her to quit saying it. Her father had actually been pleased that his daughter loved his new wife, but Rose always understood what she was saying. She’d tried to stop when she was married to Allison, but she hadn’t been able to keep herself from saying them again and again and again. Sometimes – no, always – she’d meant them the way she knew Rose heard them. It was just that Rose didn’t always choose to acknowledge how she felt.

At first, she’d expected Rose to say them back. Eventually. Not immediately, but she’d _known_ that Rose loved her. She knew why the other woman hadn’t said them in public – what with being married to someone else who would be less pleased if Rose said them to her than he was with Luisa saying them to Rose – but she’d thought, when things finally cooled down, that she would say them…someday.

But, then, Rose had always been good about communicating her love in other ways. Sometimes it was physical, but it was also in her constant care whenever Luisa had been drinking (and shouldn’t have been), in her constant checking to make sure Luisa _wasn’t_ drinking in the moments that Luisa most felt like she wanted to (even though she’d gotten better, sometimes, at not – the world seemed to be pushing her into drinking by pushing her into more desperate situations), in her being there even when Luisa didn’t know she was there, even as Susanna, to make sure that she would go back to rehab, to make sure—

It wasn’t always about her drinking. There were other things. Small ones. The feel of the kiss on her forehead. The fingers as they slowly zipped up the back of her dress. The feel of the kiss at the base of her neck after the necklace was zipped up. The oil covering her fingers from working with her car for hours because there was some unnamed problem that made it make a _horrible_ noise whenever she pressed on the brakes.

Once, she’d asked Rose why she didn’t say it, and Rose had looked at her and licked her lips and looked down at hands that fidgeted in her lap, even though she’d been standing and about to leave, and she hadn’t explained. Hadn’t said anything. Maybe she hadn’t known _how_ to explain.

Luisa’d known better than to ask after that.

But here, in this small space carved out for them in a hotel in the middle of the woods, where there could be horror movie villains or mosquitoes or a lot of other horrible things, when really they shouldn’t be together at all, but they’d found time and a place and a space and the police _might_ still be looking for one or the other of them but they were here anyway—

Here, after so many years, after even a decade, maybe, here, after one small, gentle kiss, _here_ she says the words, almost without thinking, in the smallest space of a breath, as though telling her a secret she shouldn’t say at all.

“What did you say?”

Luisa is afraid to ask, but she does anyway.

Rose looks up, looks back down, takes a deep breath, and then says, a little louder, “I said I love you.”

And Luisa can’t stop herself. She doesn’t know the right way to respond, the right way to communicate to Rose just how much it means to her, so she tries to communicate physically, tries to use her lips to convince her, to _convey_ to her—

And the way Rose responds means that maybe, just maybe, it means just as much to her, the realization, as it did to Luisa to begin with.

She doesn’t think she’ll hear it again anytime soon. And she certainly won’t _force_ Rose to say it in any situation where she doesn’t want to. But it means so much that she said it at all. Even just those two times.


	16. ew rose stop what are you doing

**16) when one person’s face is scrunched up, and the other one kisses their lips/nose/forehead**

“Lu.”

Rose leaned over and kissed the tip of Luisa’s nose gently, and immediately, Luisa’s entire face scrunched up. Her nose twitched this way and that way, and when Rose dropped their interlaced fingers, she just as immediately reached up and rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand.

“Don’t _do_ that! You know I—”

But as soon as Luisa opened her mouth again, Rose bent forward and pressed another kiss to the tip of her nose.

“_Rose!_” Luisa swatted at Rose’s arm with one hand, only for Rose to back away from her, a bright grin on her face, the smallest of chuckles breaking through her lips as she held up her hands, palms out, in an attempt at defense. “No, no, no,” Luisa continued, weaving forward. “There are _not_ any white flags here! You’re just going to have to,” and she made it through the hands trying to hold her off and kissed the tip of Rose’s nose only to be shoved away, laughing, “make it _up_ to me!”

Rose pressed forward just enough to wrap her arms around Luisa and hold her to her, giggling, and while Luisa tried to push back and away from her, knowing what was coming, she couldn’t stop Rose from kissing her face all over – one to the right edge of her jaw, then to her cheek, then three across her forehead, then down the left side of her face – kisses everywhere, finishing off with another one right to the tip of her nose.

Luisa pulled back enough – _just_ enough, as Rose was still holding her tight – to meet her eyes with a fierce little glare of her own. Not that it did her _any_ good; Rose just continued to grin at her, bright blue eyes sparkling the way water did when it reflected the sun, eyes shifting ever so often to her lips before, finally, pressing another, quick, chaste kiss to them, as well.

“_Rose._”


	17. luisa in bare feet is a smol

**17) height difference kisses where one person has to bend down and the other is on their tippy toes**

Rose’s heels click-clack against the bathroom floor as she finishes with her make-up. She runs one hand through her red waves, making sure that they fall perfectly against her shoulder before she leaves and returns to the bedroom. But where she expects to find Luisa still wrapped up in way too many blankets, still shivering against the cold, and with her eyes still closed in sleep until the exact moment that Rose presses a kiss to her forehead, at which point, she would wrap a hand around her neck and pull her down to stay with her by pressing an answering kiss to her lips—

Where she expects all of this, as it has happened so many times before, Rose instead finds a bed devoid of the love of her life, the comforter, sheets, and _so_ many blankets pulled back to reveal _absolutely nothing_. Her eyes shift back and forth for a while, looking for the woman who _ostensibly is not there_, until a hand with thin fingers wraps around her wrist. She turns to see Luisa’s behind her, still in her pajamas (maroon sweatshirt and bright pink booty shorts because no matter how cold Luisa gets in the Miami heat, she always wears shorts to sleep…_if she is wearing anything at all_) and leaning up on her tip toes. Barefoot as Luisa is and with Rose already taller and in her heels, Luisa is just tall enough to press a kiss to the edge of Rose’s chin.

Rose can’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips, and she cups Luisa’s face in both of her hands and bends down to make sure to kiss her properly, thumbs brushing along her cheekbones. She doesn’t stop until she hears the hum of contentment against her lips, at which point she moves back and away. “I have to go.”

“I know.” Luisa lets out a little unhappy sigh. “I wish you would stay here with me.”

“I’ll be in trouble if I don’t leave now.”

“_I know_,” Luisa repeats. “That’s why I’m _out of bed_ instead of trying to get you back into it.” Her hand moves to Rose’s waist, soft against the fabric there. “I can be reasonable sometimes.”

Rose grins. “Only sometimes.”

Luisa leans up on her tiptoes again to press another kiss to Rose’s lips. “_More_ than sometimes. I just don’t like being reasonable with you.”

“I’m glad.”


	18. laps and kisses and smooches and no touchy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this response is a little more physically descriptive than i tend to get - it doesn't get explicit and it's still fade-to-black but it's more than i normally do - so heads up on that in case that's the sort of thing that makes you uncomfortable.

**18) kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap**

Oh.

_Oh._

There hadn’t been much warning. <strike>There was _never_ really any warning with her.</strike> Not that there was any reason to believe that they would keep their hands off of each other the entire time – not in a room with just the two of them, with no one else around, with no reason to believe that anyone else would come calling for hours or hours – Rose was here weeks ahead, again, and Luisa hadn’t moved on enough to find a lover of her own, and why should she, when she had Rose at her beck and call (provided Rose wasn’t really needed anywhere else)?

But Rose had moved to the window seat Luisa’d had built just for her in the window that faced the ocean (the curtains were closed; they were usually closed when Rose was there, just in case something happened – as if _in case_ didn’t mean _all the time_), and then Luisa was there, in her lap, one hand tilting her chin up and the other brushing her hand through the red curls of her hair.

Rose had started to move her hands to wrap around Luisa’s waist, but Luisa had stopped her with the barest glance to her fingers and a slight shake of her head. Instead, her fingers gripped the edge of the window seat as Luisa had bent down towards her, lips parting far too eagerly for her. But Luisa hadn’t kissed her at first, instead staying close, _too_ close, her hair feather soft as it brushed against her collar. When Rose moved the slightest bit to draw closer to her and bridge the distance, Luisa had moved back, eyes watching her, so Rose had settled in to wait.

She hadn’t had to wait long.

Her eyes had closed as Luisa’s lips slowly slotted into place against hers, and she’d stayed very still as she responded, letting Luisa set the very, _very_ slow pace.

And **oh**.

Luisa’s hand tightened against her scalp as it moved through her hair, cupping the back of her head as she finally broke her lips against Rose’s own. Rose’s breath hitched as her lips continued to move against hers, as Luisa pushed against her until Rose had to grip even harder on the window seat’s edge to keep herself steady. Luisa’s other hand moved along Rose’s skin, across the soft fabric of her rosy colored blouse, along her arm so soft that it left goosebumps in its wake, to rest a top Rose’s hand.

Then her hips began to roll ever so gently against hers.

All at once, Rose tried to hasten the kiss, but her attempts to do so only made Luisa move slower, made her lips close against hers, made her pull away with a stern look to watch – _to watch_ – until it seemed like Rose would obey her. Then her lips returned to Rose’s again, her tongue tracing very gently along her lower lip before returning just to touch her own.

Rose waited, but she couldn’t suppress the little moan that broke through as Luisa nipped at her lips. Luisa’s hand tightened over Rose’s – the opposite of a gentle squeeze – and then, as her hips began to roll against Rose’s again, her hand began to search for the edge of Rose’s blouse. Her lips moved to the edge of her jaw, where she nipped again before starting to suck on her skin, her fingers moving beneath Rose’s shirt to scratch along her skin.

“_Luisa_,” Rose murmured, but her words didn’t make the other woman go any faster. Instead, Luisa only sucked harder on her neck, pulling a low groan from Rose’s lips.

“_Please_.”

Luisa breaks away just long enough to meet Rose’s eyes, and in the center of the smooth mahogany, gold, and emerald green of her eyes Rose can see how large her pupils have gotten with desire, knows that her own must be nearly as big. Rose mouths the word again, her voice husky and rough, and Luisa’s eyes move from her eyes down past her lips to the chest Rose knows is heaving, desperate. Rose’s lips part again, but Luisa bends down again and bites, hard on Rose’s neck.

It will bruise just as surely as there will be a mark left where she was sucking earlier, marks that Rose will need to cover with make up or collars or creative scarves until they fade away or she can excuse them on her weak excuse for a husband. But those are thoughts for later, for when she needed to be aware of anyone other than the woman still moving in her lap, when she could think of anything other than the act of will that kept her hands clenched into the cushion of the window seat instead of pressing into Luisa’s waist or lifting beneath her skin or—

And then there was that hand moving along her bare skin, pushing under her blouse, and _teasing_ her, fingers trailing along her stomach so that it tensed under her touch, thumb brushing soft along her hipbone and the sensitive skin of her waist just above it so that her hips rolled to meet hers, as her other hand slowly removed her own shirt.

This was somehow worse than being touched and being unable to touch because now she could _see_ what she still wasn’t allowed to touch and the desire built in the center of her chest and escaped through her lips in a sound somewhere between a growl and a whine and a moan _and of course, that smug fucking smile_ was the only response she got until the hand beneath her shirt moved outward to left it as well, and it was only _then_ that her hands were freed, and Luisa’s eyes watched and she _still didn’t touch_, instead forcing her eyes to remain wholly on Luisa’s _begging_ for a reward as, shirt gone, her hands returned to where they clenched into the cushion so hard hat she thought her nails must rip through the thin fabric.

Luisa’s eyes grew dark – darker still – and she bent forward, whispering, her breath hot on Rose’s ear before she began to nibble on her lobe – “Did you bring Brutus?”

“If I did, will you let me touch you?”

“Maybe,” Luisa whispered as her lips returned to the edge of her jaw. “Did you bring her?”

Rose’s breath hitched again. “_Yes_.” The word was a quiet hush of a thing, pulled out in a long hiss.

“Good girl.” Luisa slowly moved off of Rose’s lap, her actions accompanied by a gentle whine. “Put her on and come right. back. here.” Each word punctuated by another kiss. “Can you do that for me?”

“Can I touch you?”

“Not if you don’t get her on.” Luisa cupped Rose’s face with one hand. “Please, baby. _For me._”

Rose leaned forward as though to meet her lips with another kiss, but Luisa moved back and out of her way before flicking the edge of her nose. “You have to be good.”

“You know I’m not.”

Luisa moved forward just enough to let their lips almost meet again, and Rose’s eyes moved to her lips. “My eyes are up here.”

Rose _whined_, but the sound only brought that smug grin back to Luisa’s lips. “Go. _Now._”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you don't know already, i run a blog at http://aparticularbandit.tumblr.com where i give general writing updates and sometimes have interest polls (right now they're mostly for what should be updated for the monday updates) and, ah, also analysis for jtv stuff. sometimes the writing updates have minor spoilers.
> 
> i also have a twitter @acertainbandit (because aparticularbandit is too long. :/) - and while right now i'm not certain what to do with it, i'm debating having it be a more technical specific word count type thing? idk. but it exists!


	19. not best distractions but definitely distractions yo

**19) kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing**

“_Rose._”

Luisa brushed her fingers through the other woman’s hair, tightening her hand on one of her locks, as Rose pressed another kiss to the inside of her thigh. Her other hand held her phone, which had almost fallen out of her hand when Rose kissed her the first time. “I’m _trying_ to _focus_.”

Rose nodded once, brushing her nose against the same skin she’d only just kissed, and returned to her previous position, cheek resting against the bare skin exposed beneath Luisa’s bright pink bootie shorts. She closed her eyes as Luisa continued to watch her and let out a little hum as Luisa resumed brushing her hands through her hair.

Then she waited a few minutes.

Luisa continued to read whatever was on her phone – likely email – it wasn’t the _first_ thing she did in the morning because sometimes they had _other_ pursuits that were _much_ more important, and then email just typically got ignored until later if it was even addressed in the same day at all – because it sometimes felt _awkward_ to check email after that – and her fingers nonchalantly scratched gently through her frizzy red hair. The thumb of her other hand continued to scroll through whatever was on the screen.

Rose opened one eye and glanced upwards to check and make sure that was what she was doing, that she still wasn’t paying attention, and then she began to slowly blink along her skin, brushing her lashes against her skin. Luisa _jumped_, the phone falling out of her hand and landing just in front of Rose’s nose.

“Would you _stop that_?” Luisa asked, scrambling to pick her phone back up again. “Look, it’s another email from Raf, I need to make sure that—”

Oh, well then, she _definitely_ wasn’t going to stop.

Rose pressed an open mouthed kiss to the inside of Luisa’s thigh.

“_Rose!_”

And then started to suck the slightest bit.

Luisa’s hand tightened in her hair again, and she used her grip to pull her head upwards. It was a move that Rose _didn’t really like_, given her experiences with it, but she kept a grin on her face as she was pulled up to meet Luisa’s eyes. “I need you to _stop_.”

Instead, Rose pressed forward and kissed the tip of Luisa’s nose.

“_And that!_”

Rose grinned and moved to press another kiss to Luisa’s lips.

“You want attention, do you?”

“_Yes_,” Rose murmured, her eyes focusing on Luisa’s. “If that wasn’t _painfully_ obvious.” Her hands, uncontrolled by Luisa’s, began to move across Luisa’s thighs, spreading them the slightest bit. “Don’t you _want_ the distraction?”

“No, Rose,” Luisa started to say, her voice getting stuck, “I _really_ want to—”

Then her breath caught in her throat. Her phone dropped from her hand again, this time landing on one of Rose’s, and Rose’s hand flinched back from where it lay on Luisa’s thigh, shaking a couple of times. “You didn’t have to do _that_.”

“It was an accident!”

Luisa took Rose’s hand, finally loosening her grip on Rose’s hair, and brought it to her lips, kissing the red mark where the phone had landed. “Does that help?”

“A little bit.” Rose pouted. “You should make it up to me.”

“I wouldn’t have _dropped it_ if you hadn’t been _distracting me_.”

“Then you should make sure I’m taken care of before you go back to it, shouldn’t you?”

Luisa met Rose’s eyes, and Rose blinked a couple of times, trying to make her face stay in an expression of innocence. Finally, Luisa sighed and put her phone over on her bedside table. “_Fine_.” She grinned, cupping Rose’s face with both of her hands. “Fine. Let me take care of you.”

“Thank you.”


	20. rose is cute and it's not fair

**20) top of head kisses**

“_Hey._”

Luisa whispers it gently as Rose curls up closer against her. She brushes her fingers gingerly through her bright red curls – they’d been that dark, dark almost black for so long that she’d been afraid they wouldn’t ever change back, but as soon as they’d arrived, Rose had fixed them and had them returned to their bright, beautiful red – letting her fingers scratch gently down the nape of her neck, and Rose lets out a little sound of pleasure but otherwise doesn’t really move.

“You’re _out_, aren’t you?”

Rose nudges the tip of her nose against Luisa’s skin as she moves closer and shivers once. Rose doesn’t draw the covers closer about herself, so Luisa settles back, situating Rose so that her head now rests against her chest instead of against her thighs. Rose’s brows furrow, then she lets out a little sigh and relaxes against her. Luisa can’t help herself; she giggles a little bit! And at the slightest movement of her chest, Rose’s brow furrows again, and she frowns. Rose wraps a hand around Luisa’s waist and tightens her hold as though, even in her sleep, she’s trying to get her to still. But it just makes Luisa laugh all the more! Even though she tries to be better at it so that she doesn’t wake Rose up. Sort of.

When Rose settles a little more comfortably against her again, Luisa brushes the hair back from her face and leans down just enough to press a kiss to the top of her head. Rose’s nose wiggles again, and she curls closer against Luisa, burying her face in her chest as though attempting to hide herself.

Luisa’s hand moves, scratching slightly against her back, and Rose’s back arches just the slightest bit at her touch.

“You’re cute, you know that?” Luisa asks, even though she knows that Rose won’t respond.

Rose just takes a deep breath and lets out a deep sigh.

Luisa presses another kiss to the top of her head with a big grin on her face. “You’re so cute!”

“_Am not cute_,” Rose mumbles in her sleep. “_Am fierce. Like fox._”

Luisa’s eyes widen and she nods once and the grin on her face only grows and she _tries_ not to laugh, but she can’t keep herself from shaking with suppressed giddiness. “_I love you, Rose._”

“_Love you, too, Lu._”

This time, Luisa kisses her forehead, and Rose wakes just enough to give her a kiss of her own before she falls back asleep.


	21. foam wiping kisses!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an anon way back when i first proposed the idea of kiss prompts october sent in a lot of kiss prompts and i /know/ you asked for cappuccino foam and i went with hot cocoa foam instead /but/ it's the thought that counts right.
> 
> i may use more of your prompts later!

**A kiss wiping/licking away accidental cappuccino foam from upper lips**

“Mmmmm.”

Luisa takes another large gulp of the hot chocolate between her hands, and her eyes slide closed as she holds the sip between her lips, lets the creamy taste stay there, and then finally swallows it. “This is _perfect_,” she murmurs, eyes opening again to rest on Rose, who still stood at the stove top, her back to her. “How did you _do_ it?”

“Milk instead of water,” Rose replies, still stirring the hot chocolate in its little pot over the stove. Her eyes glance briefly to the oven timer, which shows **5:48** – not really enough time to move very far away. She turns the wooden spoon through the hot chocolate one more time, brings it to her lips, and tastes it again. “It’s a little _sweet_, don’t you think?”

“I _like_ sweet.” Luisa leans back on the couch, resting her neck against the curve of its back. She glances at the ceiling, counts a few of the popcorn ticks, and sighs. “Hot chocolate is _supposed_ to be sweet. You can’t make it not sweet; it won’t taste right.” She turns her head to face Rose again and glances at her girlfriend’s bare skin, the slope of her spine beneath the dark blue apron springs tied near her waist. “Are they done yet?”

Rose’s eyes flick to the timer again. “Couple more minutes.”

Luisa hums to herself as she takes another sip of her hot chocolate, a couple of the mini marshmallows making its way into her mouth, which is _even better_ in her opinion, which means it’s _right_ because her opinion on all things hot chocolate is _definitely_ right. Then she sets it down on the coffee – hot chocolate! – table and untangles herself from the couch. She pads herself over on stockinged feet – it’s been _cold_ and she’s been wearing socks a lot when she hasn’t been in bed – to wear Rose is standing in front of the stove. She wraps her arms around her girlfriend’s bare stomach, just above the dark blue apron springs, and presses a gentle kiss to the base of her neck.

Rose turns in her arms, letting the wooden spoon rest against the edge of the pot of hot chocolate still simmering on the stove, and chuckles. “You’ve got something—” She leans forward and gives Luisa a kiss, her tongue licking around her upper lip, and then pulls back with a smug grin, “—right there.”

Luisa’s eyes widen, and she wipes one arm across her lips before realizing— “You got it, didn’t you?”

“Mmhm.”

Luisa leans forward just enough to give Rose another kiss. “What was it?”

“Drink some more hot chocolate, and you’ll find out.”

Luisa smiles and starts to say something, but the oven timer goes off. Rose jumps in her grasp and turns away. “Let me get this.”

“Then you’ll come join me? With your own hot cocoa?”

“And a plate full of cookies, yes.” Rose turns again and kisses the tip of Luisa’s nose. “Just wait for me.”

And she did.


	22. rose is not immune to jealousy

**someone asked for a jealous rose kiss so yo here you go a jealous rose kiss**

To Rose’s credit, she never _did_ meet Allison.

Luisa mentioned her every now and again in passing – something about her girlfriend that seemed all like lies and passing commentary just to make her regret her decision to pursue Emilio instead (as if she didn’t regret it enough already) – like how people in law school used to say that had a foreign girlfriend that they met online who actually lived in Canada or they had a girlfriend who was really busy all the time so she couldn’t come meet them – Luisa’s comments of this _Allison_ woman who she was dating seemed much the same. Lies, barely concealed, to cover up the fact that she was still very much alone.

Then came the day that Luisa mentioned with eyes only the _slightest bit_ bloodshot that Allison had broken up with her.

_Then came the day that Luisa brought another girlfriend to their family dinner._

It wasn’t a weekly event. It wasn’t even a _monthly_ event. It wasn’t anything particularly regular. Emilio had been trying to stay in Miami more – and Rose expected _she_ was the real reason for that and that it had nothing to do with his family whatsoever – but that didn’t prevent him from being called away for other, pressing concerns.

It was an attempt at _bi_weekly, at most, but given how Emilio was drawn away so infrequently, the dinners were as well. Even if they existed in a semi-frequent yet undefined pattern. _Family dinners._ They’d never really been _good_ – the food, yes, was wonderful because Emilio didn’t settle for anything less than that when it came to family – but the conversations felt…strained.

They felt worse _now_ – or maybe that was just her, trying to make small talk over a dinner that was hard in the first place while having to watch _her_ girlfriend (Luisa was **not** her girlfriend) fawning all over someone else, smiling for someone else, pressing a kiss to _someone else’s_ cheek—

She scooted her chair out from under the table, hands clasped tight to her seat, and turned to press a kiss to Emilio’s cheek. Then she moved down the table, placed her hand on Luisa’s shoulder, and bent down just enough to meet the other woman’s eyes and _thank her_ for coming to the dinner as her hand squeezed Luisa’s shoulder. And then, in a very calculated move, she left.

And, in another move that is only a good one in movies and telenovelas for the romantic hero to take, she drove out to Luisa’s house and sat and waited for her to get back.

Rose sat in that car for…longer than any _sane_ woman had any right to, but Rose had never really considered herself _sane_ so much as she’d considered herself _determined_ and she was _determined_ to wait for Luisa – who entered her house _entirely by herself_ – and she was _determined_ to _make sure_ that—

Luisa didn’t answer the door at first, but when she did, she was greeted not with words or any sort of exclamation at all but a kiss pressed _firm_ against her lips as Rose pushed her back into the house, the door slamming shut behind her.

“You _don’t_ get to _do_ that,” Luisa started to say when she was finally able to pull away, “not after _everything you do_ during those dinners—”

But she wasn’t able to say anything further as Rose kissed her again, pressing her backwards until her back pressed up against the kitchen counter. Luisa’s hands curved through her hair as though she didn’t want to let go either, and Rose’s arms wrapped around her waist just in time for Luisa to prop herself up so that she could sit on top of the counter. Rose’s hands moved to Luisa’s thighs, moving the edge of her skirt up so that she could slot herself between them.

“You don’t even _like_ her,” Rose murmured as her lips moved to Luisa’s chin. “You just wanted—”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Luisa answered, moving so that their lips were together again. Her legs wrapped tight around Rose’s waist as Rose scratched impatiently at her skin. She resisted Rose’s urge to bend her backward so that she could lay on the counter, let out a moan as Rose’s lips found her neck. “You’re right, I didn’t want her, I only wanted you to—”

Rose stoppered her lips again with another kiss, tugging roughly on her lower lip, before slowing, brushing their noses together. “I know _exactly_ what you want.” Her eyes met Luisa’s. “And who you want to give it to you.”

Luisa nodded. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Rose’s lips lifted, eyes watching as Luisa’s chest heaved against her own, and then she smiled. “I’m going to give it to you, of course. Everything you wanted.”

Except she didn’t.

She had a plan to stick to, after all.


	23. what did you just say

**Kissing fingers one by one**

Rose gently lifts Luisa’s hand with her own and keeps it just as gently in the air, their hands flat against each other. She stares at them together for a minute – her fingers are slightly longer than Luisa’s, but they’re also thinner; she can see the edges of Luisa’s manicured nails where they curve just past her own fingertips, feel them where they rest against her skin – and she looks just past them to meet Luisa’s eyes. They’re curious, inquisitive, and her head tilts to one side to better see around her fingers.

“Rose?” she asks, a smile playing about her lips, uncertain but there all the same. “You okay?”

“Mmhm.” Rose nods once, and her eyes return to their hands. She knows all of the freckles on the back of her own, knows the moles and dents on the back of Luisa’s, the little scar from falling too far from her window when she’d been meant to meet a girl, from stitching it together herself instead of going to see a doctor proper – because she _would_ be a doctor, and it was good practice, or that’s what she’d told Rose when she found it, when she’d first began to rub her fingers along it. Her fingers bend and move between each of Luisa’s, and she brings her hand forward to press a kiss to the tip of one of Luisa’s pinky.

Luisa doesn’t say anything, but she blushes and looks downward. “That tickles.”

Rose’s brows rise. “Does it?” She moves to press a kiss to her ring finger, and Luisa giggles then abruptly stops herself. But that sudden stop doesn’t hold as Rose presses one to her middle finger, and there’s a smile that plays like a jest before she moves to Luisa’s first finger. It’s while she moves to press a kiss to Luisa’s thumb that she says, finally, “I have a question for you.”

Luisa doesn’t stop giggling – and Rose knows, Rose _knows_ it’s the feather soft feel of her lips on her sensitive fingertips like her eyelashes brushing against her skin, Rose _knows_ how much it tickles because it tickles her, too – and she’d _wanted_ Luisa to be unable to interrupt her or ask what she wants to say, what she wants to _ask_, so that she could say, without interrupting:

“Will you marry me?”

The giggling comes to a complete end, then, and Luisa’s eyes are wider than she’s ever seen them, so wide she feels like she could fit saucers in them, wider than the full moon in a starry sky. It’s the first time Rose has ever seen Luisa really _speechless_, too, _breathless_ almost as her eyes move to meet Rose’s. “What?”

“Will you marry me?” Rose repeats, and she moves to press another kiss to the back of Luisa’s ring finger, right where the diamond would set, if she had a ring at all.

Luisa instinctively moves her hand back, and Rose lets her, watches as she stares at the spot on her ring finger, then tucks her hand under her other arm. “Why?” She shakes her hand, then continues before Rose can say anything – not because there isn’t enough room for her to speak, but because she wants to wait until Luisa’s gotten out what she needs to say – “Why now?” Luisa’s gaze flickers down to Rose’s fingers and then remains there. “You’re not just saying this because you think it’s something I want this time, are you? You’re saying this because _you_ want this, right? You—” Her voice cuts off, and she swallows, her lips pressing together. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Rose nods. “I asked because I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else and because I don’t want you spending the rest of _your_ life with anyone else.” Her eyes don’t fall, but there’s a moment where they briefly glance down to where Luisa is looking, although she sees nothing different.

“We don’t have to get married for that.”

“I know.” Rose’s head tilts to one side. “But I thought…you might enjoy the whole…_celebratory_ aspect of a marriage ceremony.” Her eyes stay focused entirely on Luisa, waiting to see her reaction. “Especially considering last time—”

“I know what happened last time, Rose.” Luisa doesn’t look up. “But I can’t have a party without my brother, and he’ll never come.” This time, she does look up, “Or my father. I’d want him to give me away. I want the father-daughter dance. And now I’ll never have that.”

“I won’t either.”

“It doesn’t mean as much to you.”

Luisa doesn’t gasp the way she might if she were talking to someone else, fearing that she might hurt their feelings. Rose understands that, too, knows that Luisa doesn’t think there are feelings to be hurt when it comes to talking about Rose’s family, and the truth is that she’s right. Rose’s father was nothing more than a drunkard who literally drank himself to death and had allowed for her abuse first by the uncle who stepped in after her mother left and then by the woman who pretended to be a stepmother but hadn’t cared one hair for her in actuality.

“Is that a no?” Rose asks, her voice very soft, as the silence stretches between them. She doesn’t know what else to say. When Luisa still doesn’t say anything, she reaches over, takes Luisa’s other hand, and lifts it so that she can press a kiss to her knuckles. “I won’t be mad.”

Luisa shakes her head – that _is_ a no – and says, finally, “Can I think about it?” Her lips press together. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but I’m…I’m not sure about…about marriage.” She meets Rose’s eyes. “There’s no one else I would marry but you. You _know that_, right?”

Rose smiles, but something in her doesn’t quite connect with the expression. She can’t put a name on it. “It’s a nice thought.”

“It’s not just a thought.”

“You didn’t say yes.”

“Don’t _guilt me_ into _marrying you_, Rose.” Luisa reaches over and bats Rose’s shoulder, but it’s gentle and doesn’t hurt at all. “Just….” She leans back _splat_ against their bed. “Just kiss me and let’s…let’s forget about this. I’ll have an answer for you. I just…don’t right now.”

Rose grins and she knows it looks like she’s grinning to Luisa but something still doesn’t feel right. Still, she leans down and kisses the love of her life anyway. It’s always been the easiest way to communicate between them, to try and express herself through kisses and touches and small actions than through anything she _said_. It’s how Luisa always knew she loved her, even though she said she was in love with someone else.

Because she’d never been able to keep away.


	24. fluffy baby fluff

**Pregnancy belly kisses**

“So what do you think she’s going to be like?” Rose runs her fingers along Luisa’s gently protruding stomach. “Do you think she’ll be more like _me_, or more like her dad?” She doesn’t stutter as she mentions their sperm donor, a man whom she’s never met but who Luisa remembers fondly from her medical student days and who hadn’t seemed too unattractive from the pictures of him she’s seen.

“Well, genetically speaking, his looks are stronger. Red hair is a recessive gene. Blue eyes.” Luisa brushes a hand idly through Rose’s curls. “She should still have curly hair, but it might be a bit thicker than yours.” Her eyes light up. “She might have dark hair, more like mine, but curly like yours.” She taps a finger on the tip of Rose’s nose when Rose looks back up with a slight pout. “She might have your freckles.”

That draws a grin from Rose’s lips. “Little me with freckles.”

“You didn’t hear a _word_ I just said, did you.”

“I heard the freckles,” Rose says with a grin as she presses a kiss to the top of Luisa’s stomach. “Do you hear me, baby? _You should have freckles._” Her face is still close to Luisa’s stomach as she whispers. Then her eyes glance up again. “You might still get something like a mini you, even though—”

“Don’t,” Luisa interrupts, her voice quiet but firm. She scratches her nails lightly along Rose’s neck. “_Don’t._”

“Sorry.” Rose knows she doesn’t _sound_ sorry, but she doesn’t _like_ hurting Luisa. She looks down at Luisa’s stomach again. “Don’t be like me, little baby. Your mama deserves better than another one of me running around, terrorizing the house.”

“_Hey_,” Luisa says, “I _like_ you.”

“Well, I like you, too.” Rose draws up on her elbows and presses a kiss to her wife’s lips. “But seriously, you don’t want anything like what _I_ was like as a kid.” She begins to trace circles on Luisa’s stomach again, and as she does, Luisa takes her hand and holds it flat against her stomach. “What?”

“Feel.”

Rose flattens her hand out a little more, her long, slender fingers extended across Luisa’s round stomach, and all of a sudden, she feels something against the palm of her hand. Her eyes widen. “Is that…is that her?” She looks up and meets Luisa’s eyes, but her wife doesn’t say anything, just gives her a content little grin that doesn’t mask how tired she’s been feeling these past few months. There are shadows under her eyes that haven’t disappeared since the early months of her pregnancy. Rose doesn’t pretend not to see them, but she’s learned not to say anything about them anymore. She still thinks Luisa looks beautiful, even if Luisa just thinks she looks tired.

“Hello, baby,” Rose says, keeping her hand flat on Luisa’s stomach and feeling the tiny child pressing against her, as though trying to reach out and touch her just as much as Rose wishes she could touch her now. “You want to come out and see your mommies?”

“_No._” Luisa gives Rose a steady glare. “She has to stay in there for a little while longer. Don’t tempt her. It’ll make her sick.”

“Well, if she’s not like me, it won’t matter. She’ll take her good old time and leave whenever she wants to,” her voice becomes a little softer and high-pitched as she continues to speak. “_Won’t you?_” She presses another kiss to Luisa’s stomach near to where the baby is pressing against her, then she begins to blow raspberries against her skin instead.

Luisa begins to laugh, and the baby either _kicks_ or _punches_ against Luisa’s stomach, almost hitting Rose’s face. Then Luisa gasps. She stares at Rose. “I don’t think she likes that.”

“I wouldn’t either, all that shaking when I’m still just testing the waters.”

“Not waters.”

“Whatever your technical term is for it.” Rose curls up so that her head just rests on Luisa’s stomach, ear pressed against her skin. “Do you think, if I listen enough, she’ll say something to me?” Her eyes light up. “Maybe she’ll _whistle_.”

Luisa glances upward and shakes her head. “She can’t whistle, Rose. The fluid keeps her from—”

“_Maybe she’ll hum it, then._”

“I don’t think you’ll be able to hear it if she hums.”

“_Maybe if she hums really, really loud._”

Luisa giggles again, and the child still gestating in her stomach presses a little more violently against it, causing Luisa to cough again. “She’s not going to keep me from laughing when she gets out. She’s going to laugh _just as much as we do_.”

“I don’t think you can force a baby to laugh, Lu.”

Luisa’s brows raise. “You think I can’t make a baby laugh? You think I’m not good at getting babies to laugh?”

“I think you’re quite good at—”

“_Part of my job description was being good with babies, Rose. I can make any baby laugh._”

“Except the one you’re making who seems upset with you for laughing.” Rose giggles then. She can’t help it. The idea of their child – of _Luisa’s_ child – not wanting to laugh, not liking when her mothers laughed, seems so absurd. Maybe it’s simply that the baby can’t see Luisa the way she can – all stuck inside her stomach (which, she supposes, gives the child an entirely different view of Luisa than she will _ever_ have, not that she’ll remember it) instead of out here, watching her facial expressions change and shift.

Then she smiles. “I hope she emotes like you do.” She raises one hand and waves it in the air. “All those expressions and gestures. They’re so cute. I hope she gets those.”

Luisa shakes her head sadly. “She doesn’t have my genetics, Rose.”

“Well, then, she’ll _learn_.”

“You can’t make a child learn accidental comedic timing. She’s either born with it or she’s not. And given that she has _your_ genes—”

“_Hey!_” Rose bats at Luisa’s knee once. “I have comedic timing. You like my word plays.”

“Rose, _you_ like your word plays.”

“So do you.” Rose presses another kiss to Luisa’s stomach. “And so will you. Once you understand them. When you’re older.” She blinks against Luisa’s stomach, brushing her eyelashes against her skin, and Luisa shifts under the ticklish, feather light touch. “Can she feel that, do you think?”

Luisa shifts again as Rose continues. “She can feel me moving, and if you keep doing that, she’ll feel me _laughing_ again, and then she’ll _punch me_ again, and then—”

Rose grins. “You’ll be okay. You were made for this. Before—”

“_Don’t._”

“Of course.” Rose presses another small kiss to Luisa’s stomach, just to the center of her belly-button, which is stuck out with the extension of her stomach where it normally isn’t. Then she pulls Luisa’s shirt back down over her stomach, props herself up onto her elbows, and moves closer to where Luisa is reclining against their headboard, propped up against pillows. “What should we name her?”

Luisa’s face freezes, and the quiet sort of serenity that had been there for so long seems to disappear. Her eyes shift downwards, and she begins to wind the comforter through her hands.

Rose watches this with growing discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I’ve….” Luisa hesitates and then takes a deep breath and launches into a long, quickly spoken sentence that once might have taken Rose a little bit to understand, or even a slower repeat, but after so long with her wife, she understands without a second thought: “I kind of sort of maybe already named her.”

Luisa offers Rose her characteristic awkward sort of grin, and Rose forces herself to take a deep breath. But before she can say anything, Luisa continues, sensing immediately that something is wrong, “Not that it has to be her name or even her first name, it can just be her middle name or nothing at all, I just got used to calling her that, you know, with her inside me and around all the time, and after a while, you just get used to it, and then you start using a name instead of _baby_, but it can just be a placeholder instead of—”

Rose leans forward and shuts her mouth with another kiss. Luisa makes a startled sort of _mmf!_ sound, but she doesn’t move away. Instead, she eventually shuts her eyes and hums with pleasure. “What was that for?” Luisa asks as Rose pulls away, slowly winding her arm between her larger chest and her extended stomach.

“Because you’re cute, and I love you,” Rose whispers, brushing her other hand through Luisa’s long dark hair. “What’s her name?”

“Mia.”

Rose’s eyes widen just the slightest bit, and then she gave a very slow nod, her lips curling into a gentle grin. “I like that.”

“And I thought, maybe, if you liked it, we could name her Mia Marie, so that she’s—”

“—my mom’s name, too.”

“Yeah.”

It doesn’t take long before Rose nods. “I think that’s the best name she could possibly have.”

“You do?” Luisa asks, shifting against her.

“Yes.”


	25. lady and the tramp and food and smooches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one prompted this one; i wanted this one.

**food kisses**

“Try this.”

Luisa holds a chocolate-covered strawberry out for Rose to take. “They’re really good today,” she says, unable to keep from smiling. It’s entertaining to her, thinking of how the other woman has always smelled of strawberries and lavender (even when she’d been with her father there was only the slightest afterscent of wintergreen) and connecting that with the berry in between her fingers.

Rose leans over just enough to take the strawberry from Luisa’s fingers, biting around it, her lips just brushing against her fingertips. Her eyes shut, the barest bit of juice dribbling from the right corner of her lips until her tongue just swipes it away then reaches out to lick the same from Luisa’s fingers. “You’re right.” She takes a deep breath, smiles in that way that’s a cross between a smile and a grin, “That _is_ good.”

Luisa takes a deep breath of her own, rose lightly coloring her cheeks, and says, gently, “Do you want anything else?” She gestures to her plate. “Anything at all?”

Rose’s grin deepens. “I have an idea.”

And that’s how, only an hour later, they sit on the hardwood floor in their apartment – Rose with her legs crisscrossed and Luisa with hers tucked to one side and beneath her – with a plate of spaghetti set between them just so. There’s no need to worry – they’ve been together so long that the messiness of the platter shouldn’t do anything to them, and in Luisa’s mind, it shouldn’t cause an effect on relationships _in general_, but who is she to judge someone else? She’s in a relationship with _a crime lord_, after all.

**_Ex_**_ crime lord_, she reminds herself as she slowly lifts her own fork, only partly full of noodles. She takes a bite of hers as Rose takes a bit from her own fork, and while it doesn’t happen on their first bite, or even their second, it does eventually, that they get the same noodle – not just one, but strings of them, connecting their lips together. She looks over to Rose, whose eyes seem to twinkle with mischief as she notices.

Luisa rolls her eyes, but she grins. She _enjoys this_, enjoys that they grow closer as they finish but _don’t_ finish, enjoys that moment of their lips just _touching_ before she parts her lips and lets Rose take the rest of it. Then she hums the slightest bit as they part.

Rose leans forward but Luisa pulls back. “_Eat_,” she says, brown eyes flicking to the plate. “This was your idea.”

“What if I want to eat something else?” Rose asks, batting her lashes.

But Luisa resists – even though it seems difficult. “I did _not_ spend all that time cooking only for you to take a few bites and not eat anything else.”

“You didn’t cook the _entire_ thing yourself. I helped.”

Luisa leans across just enough to peck Rose’s lips then pulls back again just as Rose tries to draw forward again. “No more until we get the same noodle again.”

“Fine,” Rose says, taking her fork eagerly. “I can wait.”


	26. come back. even as a shadow, even as a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one might be a little more graphic-ish in terms of burned skin, so be aware of that ahead of time.

**kiss in a dream**

She didn’t know it was one until after she awoke. Most dreams are like that – you don’t know you’re dreaming until something shocks you out of it, and sometimes even knowing, you can stay asleep and hold tightly to the last dregs of it and the feeling it leaves behind.

This one left behind the scent of strawberries and lavender staining her pillow so deep and so strong that she knew Rose was really there, even though there was no way for that to be true.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

After Rose…well, she doesn’t like to talk about it, so we’ll say _after the last time she saw Rose_, they left Luisa alone. She went through a torrid vortex of police discussions and needing to explain how she’d gotten out of her safe location and escaped their notice, why she’d run in the first place – and then there was explaining everything about Rose – and when she was done, when everything was done, there was no one left for her. She’d thought maybe Raf or Jane, but there was no one. She didn’t know why she expected that. It isn’t as though she’d done anything to incur their favor at all. And if they didn’t want _one_ murderer, they certainly didn’t want another one.

She drank herself to sleep. It was easy enough, finding a bottle somewhere in the back of a gas station liquor lock-up – she didn’t even need to go to a liquor store proper, although that meant it didn’t taste as good. She mixed it with lemonade, and that helped. A little bit. Not enough. Then she drank and drank and curled up on her bed – the one she’d left behind so long ago – with the bottle sitting on the side table, until, finally, she fell asleep.

And she dreamed.

There wasn’t anything specific about the location. They could have been anywhere. The heat and humidity made her think it might have been the Caymans, but there wasn’t the sound of water lapping at the edge of the beach just within a short walk from their backyard – the whole island may have belonged to Rose, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have a place on one of the beach fronts so that they could walk down to the beach whensoever they wanted – and there wasn’t the ever present glare of the sun or that feeling of needing to wear something _white_ and _light_ so as to diffuse the heat as much as they could. Her skin felt darker, as though she’d spent a little too long in the sun, and maybe that’s what was making her so tired instead of drinking too much, and Rose’s skin held that light red tint to it of what would, in the future, be a sunburn.

It was instinct, then, to reach out and run her fingers along Rose’s too warm skin, to pull her to their bed and begin rubbing aloe into her already burned skin.

_I don’t think that will help._

The skin beneath her hands grew brighter and brighter and then darker until it was ash black and flaking off and no matter how much aloe she poured into Rose’s skin, nothing seemed to help, and when she looked up there were those bright blue eyes staring at her out of a hairless face covered with flaking skin cooked to a crisp. There was no smell, but Luisa knew what she smelled like. She’d worked with enough burn victims. <strike>She’d smelled Rose from the rooftop.</strike>

Then she blinked and everything was back to normal. The aloe seemed smooth on barely tinted skin, her freckles seemed bright, and Rose turned to look at her just over her shoulder with eyes so clear and blue that she felt like she could swim in them. Rose said they reflected her own sunshine back at her, but she never felt that cheery.

_Rose, I—_

But the other woman cupped her cheek and turned to face her and when she kissed her she tasted as she always did instead of the taste of campfires that she’d been afraid to expect. Rose brushed her thumb along her cheekbone and caught her tears, and this time she kissed them away instead of trying to pretend they weren’t there at all.

Truth be told, when she woke it wasn’t the pillow that smelled of strawberries and lavender, but it was the clothes she was still wearing. She hung them up in a separate part of her closet and never washed them so that she could keep the scent for herself. But it was never so pure as it had been earlier, stained with the ever-present after-scent of smoke.


	27. i mean i guess you can kiss other things too

**spin the bottle kiss**

“Luisa, we are _adults_.” Rose crossed her arms and stared at the shorter woman. “And we are _the only two people here_.” She scowled. “You’re _older than me_, Lu.” And despite all of her verbal protesting, she sat cross-legged on the floor across from her, arms still crossed just over her chest. “Haven’t you done this before?”

Luisa nodded, her head wobbling back and forth as she did. “Millions of times. But I haven’t done it with you.” She put the glass bottle between them – some sort of specialty root beer or ginger ale or sparkling water instead of what had traditionally been a beer bottle or Smirnoff’s – she’d been more of a vodka person, but there often hadn’t been enough alcohol content for her to get nearly as drunk as she wanted, and by the time she’d switched to a bottle that was a little too unwieldy to spin, she’d been _an adult_ and people hadn’t wanted to play a game so much as they wanted to get straight to the action. Which, at the time, hadn’t minded to her because _she’d_ wanted to get straight into the action, too. Or _not_ straight, as it were.

“But we’re the only two people playing,” Rose reiterated, her arms still crossed. “What happens if the bottle lands somewhere other than one of us? Are you going to pull in random people from the street and force them to play with us?” Her scowl deepened as Luisa’s eyes lit up. “I will _not_ be playing if you do that.”

“Ok, but just _think_ about it.” Luisa leaned back, propping herself up on the flats of her hands. “Some nice, _beautiful_ strange woman telling you that she’s collecting women for a game of spin the bottle.” She grinned. “Wouldn’t you go? Just to see who else was there? Or just to be with her?”

Rose’s lips pressed together, and her eyes shifted away from her partner. “That would be such a risk. I could get in trouble. _I could die._”

“You’d do it.”

“I would definitely do it, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,” Rose said, still not quite relaxed or looking like she might relax, “and I don’t want you inviting strange women into our apartment.”

Luisa’s grin turned smug. “You just don’t want to see me kissing another woman.”

“_You_ don’t want to see _me_ kissing another woman.”

Luisa shrugged. “I don’t know. It could be hot. As long as you came back to me.”

Rose’s eyes narrowed. “And if I don’t like this idea?”

“Chill!” Luisa batted one hand in the air. “We’re not going to bring in randos. You’re just going to play with me. _And_ you have two options.” She kept her hand up, holding up two fingers. “One,” and here she wiggled one finger, “if the bottle lands on something other than one of us, we have to kiss it, so,” and she span the bottle, waiting for it to land, then nodded once, “it landed on the couch, so I’d kiss the couch.”

“That sounds stupid.”

“Yeah, well, I’m working with limited options here.” Luisa looked back up to Rose and waggled her brows. “Two,” she moved both fingers back and forth, “we can get different clothing items and place them around the room, and if it lands on one of those, we have to kiss somewhere on there.”

“On the clothes.”

Luisa shook her head. “No, so, if it landed on one of your shirts, I’d take off your shirt and kiss you somewhere where it used to be.” She grinned. “_Anywhere I chose._” Then she waited, watching Rose and trying to gauge her reaction.

Rose tried to keep the scowl on her face, but it was a losing battle. In fact, the more time passed, the more it slowly and subtly shifted into a smug smile. “_That one._”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” Luisa leans back on her palms again. “Go get some of your clothes and come back.”

And a few moments later, they were completely set up with different clothing items set in a circle around them. Rose reached for the bottle, but Luisa placed her hand over hers, stopping her. “No,” she said, her voice soft. “_I’ll_ go first.”

Rose moved back, eyes hungry as she watched Luisa spin the bottle on the hardwood floor, hungrier as she waited to see where it would land. The bottle span – fast at first, and then slower, as of course spinning bottles do – and landed on a scarf covered with floral print. Rose leaned back with an air of disappointment, but Luisa dutifully crossed over to her.

“Stay still,” Luisa whispered, and then she gently kissed a spot on Rose’s neck that she had many times before, nipping lightly on her skin, then sucked with the intent to leave a mark. When she pulled away, the spot was red. “You’ll need that scarf to cover that up tomorrow.”

Rose took a deep breath. “Or I could _not_ cover it up.” She moved as though to kiss her, but Luisa leaned back and moved away to the other side of their circle again. The redhead pouted.

“Not until you spin,” Luisa pressed.

Rose immediately reached forward and span the bottle so hard that it didn’t sit in one place the way it had when Luisa span it. No, it jumped and skipped in place a few times before slowing enough to spin the way it should. It took longer than Luisa’s spin had, and it finally landed on a pair of brown leather gloves with a creamy faux fur fringe. Rose pursed her lips, but she obediently reached out for Luisa’s hands. Instead of kissing her fingers, as Luisa might have expected, she pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrists, one at a time, and Luisa couldn’t stop her breath from hitching, much to Rose’s grinning _not_ surprise as she pulled away.

“Your turn.”

And so it went – but the bottle seemed to avoid landing on either of them properly, instead landing on shirts, socks, _hats_ – and the more it landed on articles of clothing – or _relanded_ on them – the more they began to get even more creative. Luisa did it first, when the bottle landed on Rose’s scarf for what must have been the third time, leaning forward and kissing the tip of Rose’s nose instead of leaving yet another mark on the pale skin of her neck. Rose’s brows rose, and from then, the game was less about turning one another on so much that they quit playing and moved into _other_ pursuits and more about how they could get the other to laugh, whether that was by kissing a particularly ticklish spot (Rose got her revenge by brushing her lashes along Luisa’s waist in what was known as a butterfly kiss – the movement so soft in such a sensitive area that Luisa couldn’t help but jump!) or by kissing somewhere at random (Luisa, for instance, kissed Rose’s armpit and then blew a raspberry there that left Rose batting at her face while she laughed).

It was only then, Luisa brushing tears of joy from her eyes, that when she span the bottle it landed _promptly_ on Rose herself.

She stopped laughing – and Rose did, too – and while Rose had been adamantly against playing in the first place, she could feel her heart thudding in her chest. Everything seemed to slow down as Luisa moved closer to her, which didn’t make sense, because it wasn’t like they hadn’t kissed before because they had. A lot. _A lot._ But there was something about this, about having waited for something like fate and having accepted that it wouldn’t happen at all, _and then it was finally happening_ and—

Luisa’s lips met hers, slow and soft at first, then insistent and desperate. Rose matched her intensity with her own, raising her hand to cup the back of Luisa’s head and hold it there just as Luisa’s hand pushed through Rose’s curls. It took a few moments before they stopped, and even then, it was clear that neither of them really wanted to.

When Luisa pulled back, brushing her nose against Rose’s, Rose swallowed once and asked, her voice rough, “Now I spin?”

“No,” Luisa said, her eyes twinkling, “now you take me back to bed.”

Rose’s face scrunched up into an expression of confusion. “But I thought we had to keep spinning.”

Luisa laughed. “You have _never_ played this game, have you?” Before Rose could say anything (although her expression was one of frustrated annoyance – _how dare Luisa think she hadn’t ever played spin the bottle?_ – even though there was an element of truth to that; although she _had_ played, it had been while trying to assume the role of someone who was much more interested in guys and less interested in girls than she’d ever been able to be), she continued, “When the bottle lands on someone and you kiss them like we just did, you pair off and leave the game.” She brushed her thumb along Rose’s chin. “So – we pair off.” She gave her another kiss, short, sweet, but Rose leaned forward to continue. “And we leave the game.”

Rose didn’t have a word of complaint, instead following Luisa’s instructions – this was _her_ game, after all – and leaving the game with her, taking her back to the bed that she’d really wanted from the beginning.


	28. what did you just say pt. ii

**Gentle kisses on the face after sex**

Luisa lets out a low moan, one hand slowly letting go of their now crumpled sheets and the other winding its way out of Rose’s sweaty mass of curls before trailing down her back, lightly scratching along her spine. Rose hums in contentment and shifts up so that she just hovers over her lover. She grins – she can’t _not_ grin – she _always_ grins afterward because she’s always _pleased_ afterward and she doesn’t seem to know how _not_ to grin – and Luisa lifts her hand to brush the curls out of Rose’s face. As they trace her skin, she can feel how slick it is with sweat, and she leans forward to press a kiss of her own to Rose’s sweaty skin. Rose turns just enough to kiss her properly and then moves past to kiss her cheek. Luisa sighs and collapses back on the bed again, pulling Rose down on top of her as Rose moves to kiss the tip of her—

“_No, you don’t._” Luisa thwacks Rose’s shoulder just as Rose moves up to press a kiss on her forehead instead.

Rose’s brow furrows, and her lips contort into a pout. “What’d you do that for? Was I not _enough_ for you?”

“_Yes, you were_,” Luisa begins, and it’s in that moment, staring at the woman _still pouting_ above her, in that feigned sort of look of hurt, that she leans up and presses a kiss just next to her ear and says, propping herself up on her elbows, “Yes, you _are_.” She gives her another kiss just there, then says, “So my answer is _yes_.”

When she pulls away, Rose’s brow is even more deeply furrowed. “Your answer.” For a moment, it seems as though she doesn’t understand, and then there’s a light that flicks on behind her crystal blue eyes, and the grin on her face was so bright before but it can’t match the one steadily growing there now. “You mean…you’ll marry me.”

Luisa cups one hand along Rose’s cheek and kisses the edge of her lips. “Of course, I will.” She pulls away just enough to search her eyes. “I don’t know why it took me so long to figure that out.”

Then she leans forward and kisses Rose a little more properly, and they curl up together, warm, and safe, and together, as they should be.


	29. luisa i know you're cute but you're not supposed to be doing that

**Drunk/sloppy kiss**

Rose can _smell_ her before she can _see_ her. It’s the strong wafting of alcohol that creeps along the halls of her father’s hotel – _not_ the Marbella, because it hasn’t changed hands yet, and while Emilio still owns it, the hotel is not his personal favorite in terms of which one he visits and which one his family stays at (although, in truth, they have free rooms at any of the hotels in his conglomerate); it’s far too _bright_ and _blue_ – which really means _Luisa_ would love it and prefer it, if she took time to visit it, but why visit a hotel for anything other than family, why live in one for any other reason when she made more than enough money (and would be given just as much from her father) if she wanted to live somewhere else? In this case, it’s less _family_ and more _being close to Rose_, although neither of them would ever think to say it. Which…_is_ family, if you think about it.

—now, yes, that smell could be from anyone else in the hotel, but Rose knows better. Most drunkards don’t stay at one of Emilio’s hotels; they prefer to spend that extra cash on _more booze_ instead of on a hotel room, and the ones that do decide to stay here _don’t_ live on this hall. This is **their** hall. The rooms are empty most of the year, but each one is connected to a suite specifically meant for members of the Alver-Solano family. Yes, there are only four of them right now, and yes, two of them share one suite, but that is beside the point. _They get the entire floor._

So while that strong liquor scent _could_ be coming from someone else in the family (Rafael is the next best idea), Rose _knows_ that it’s Luisa. Rafael and Petra just lost their child. They were mourning in private, in the comfort of their home. Emilio was on a trip to one of his other hotels and left Rose here to keep tabs on his daughter. _Obviously, this was the reason._

The pounding came a little too loud and a little too haphazard, and when Rose opened the door, she found Luisa slumped on the floor with her back against—

Well, it _had_ been against the door, but with Rose opening it, Luisa fell backwards, her head hitting just below Rose’s knees. She looked up with bloodshot eyes that grew wider as her lips spread into what would otherwise be a bright grin but was instead childish, sloppy, _off_. Luisa raised one of her hands and waggled her fingers at her. “_Hiiiiiiiiii._”

“Luisa,” Rose knelt down, curved her arms under the other woman’s armpits, and dragged her into the hotel suite so that the door could swing shut on them, “you’re not supposed to be drinking.”

“Who said I was _drinking_?” Her words slurred together, her eyes grew really wide and afraid, and she looked around. “I haven’t. I _haven’t_.”

“Lu, I can _smell_ it.”

“Oh.” Luisa’s eyes shifted down, focusing on her hands, which fiddled in front of her floral patterned black dress. Her legs were splayed in front of her, one of her sandals already starting to come off. “I did _spill_ a little.” She runs a hand through her hair, which is already fluffy and a bit tangled. “I didn’t think you could smell it. I can’t smell it.”

“That’s because you’re _used to_ it.”

“I’m not used to it.” Luisa looked up and blinked a couple of times. “Why are you so _taaaalllll_?”

“Well, first of all, I’m taller than you—”

“Not this tall. Right now you’re HUGE.”

“—right now you are sitting down and I’m standing.”

Luisa blinked a couple of times and looked at the ground, at her widespread legs, and then looked back up at Rose. “So I am.” She pressed the flats of her hands on the floor and tried to push herself up. It took a little bit: she wobbled as she pushed herself up, then she curved over to one side, holding herself up with one hand that waved wildly in the air, and then she pushed up again, hands circling in the air as she bent half over backwards and almost fell. Rose had moved back during this display, and Luisa grinned at her, waggling her fingers at her again as she tried to straighten back up. When she seemed to be wobbling a little too much, Rose stepped forward again and propped Luisa up.

“Maybe I do better sitting down.” Luisa giggled. She tried to take a step forward into the rest of the suite and stumbled on her half-on sandal.

Rose caught her again before she could fall flat on her face. “Maybe you should lie down. Drink some water.”

“Are you going to lie down with me?” Luisa asked, waggling her eyebrows, a huge grin plastered on her face. “Because you _like_ me?”

Rose’s lips pressed together. “I wasn’t planning on it. But I’ll be in the bedroom right next door in case you need—”

Luisa’s eyes immediately welled with tears. “You won’t sleep with me, and I’ve been drinking, and I killed Rafael’s—”

“_No, you did not._” Rose moves Luisa over to the couch and sits her down instead of taking her into one of the spare rooms in her suite. “You didn’t kill anybody.” She takes Luisa’s hands in her own and gives them a squeeze. “There wasn’t anything you could do. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Her brows raise, and she looks down at Luisa’s hands. “Other than the drinking.”

“_I’m sorry._” Now Luisa’s words are a mixture of slurred and whiny, and her loud crying makes her breath feel _that much stronger_. “You probably don’t want anything to do with me right now and I’m here making everything worse and I should just leave.”

“_No._” Rose lifts Luisa’s face so that the other woman has to look at her – despite this, Luisa’s hazel eyes keep shifting away, trying to look anywhere but at Rose. “You aren’t making anything worse, and I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay right here. With me.”

Luisa nods once, still sniffling. Her eyes flick up to meet Rose’s eyes and then flick down and Rose _knows_ what’s going to happen before it does, but there’s not enough time to try and stop her. Luisa leans up and throws her arms around Rose’s neck and gives her a huge kiss.

If she hadn’t been drunk and tasted mostly of alcohol, Rose could have enjoyed this.

But Luisa _is_ drunk and _did_ taste like alcohol and _smelled_ like alcohol, and Rose had enough of these sorts of liaisons in college – and while some of those had been with men that she hadn’t necessarily turned down due to the plans she and Elena had concocted, that doesn’t mean she had enjoyed _any_ of them.

Rose pulls back and away and holds her hands out to stop Luisa from continuing. “No, Luisa.” She meets the other woman’s eyes and tries to give her a cold but still somehow _comforting_ look. “Not while you’re drunk. Maybe in the morning. When you’re trying to get over your hangover.”

“That’s not fun.”

“No, it’s not.” Rose pats Luisa’s shoulder anyway. “But right now, let’s get you moved to a bed and drinking water, okay?”

Luisa nods. “Okay.”

* * *

In the morning, despite her hangover, Luisa _does_ remember and _does_ try again, and that one works out for her _much better_.


	30. epic super smooches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this uses versions of rose and luisa that are from another project i've been, ah, brainstorming and potentially writing other stuff for /so/ not canon in the slightest. ^^

**Needing to kiss to hide from bad guys**

you know that there are people after you.

people have been after you ever since you were fourteen years old. elena may have had custody of you, and various factions may have _known_ that, but the debate over who you **truly** belonged to continued _on and on and on_. you certainly didn’t belong to yourself. you knew that. didn’t stop you from _trying_.

you don’t know how they know when it’s you. there must be ways of knowing – some sort of technology that allows them to identify you separate from everyone else – but you don’t know what it is or how they know. only that sometimes a change of face can hide you entirely and sometimes it doesn’t. normal scamps after _rose_? didn’t know who you were. someone looking for _clara ruvelle_? **problem.**

these people, however, seem to know you best as _rose_, so—

you reach over and take luisa’s hand – you’ve kept her hidden from the rest of your gang (for good reason; you didn’t want to deal with what _could_ and likely _would_ happen if janet met her) and it’s nice, having this secret that’s all your own that _isn’t_ bad – and give it a gentle squeeze before bending forward and whispering, “time to go.”

luisa’s eyes widen and she starts to turn towards the men at the front of the restaurant.

“don’t look.”

her eyes return to focus on yours, and you give her hand another gentle squeeze. you hope that it’s comforting. you’re not sure that it is.

“c’mon. i know the owners.”

you lead her through to the back of the restaurant, past the bathrooms, and into the kitchen. your face shifts just enough by the time you get there that the owners recognize you. “here.” you hand them a wad of bills – not _too_ much but enough to cover your meal and their being quiet about your leaving. they’re flipping through the wad as you take luisa through the backdoor.

when you turn to her, you find that her eyes have widened even more. “you look different.”

  1. right.

you push strands of what once were red but now were a deep purple-black hair out of your face. your eyes are still a clear crystal blue – not that you’re looking, but that you haven’t tried to change them, haven’t thought about trying – but your nose is a little more squat, your face more square, cheekbones not as sharp or as accented, brows thicker and chin thick. “i’m a shapeshifter,” you say, and it’s the easiest thing in the world. “do you like it?”

luisa sticks out her tongue. “not really. change back?”

it’s as easy as anything for your face to resume the shape you wear when you’re with her, the one you wear with your girl gang, and your hair returns to the bright red that you know luisa prefers. “better?”

luisa nods once.

then there’s the sound of boots pounding on the sidewalk, and you look over your shoulder. “i need to change back. or to something else. i—”

then luisa’s lips are on yours, and she’s pressing you against the brick wall on the other side of the alley, and you don’t really think much past that, wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her body flush against yours. you’re still aware of the sound of the boots on the pavement running past you, still aware when one of them stops and stares, and you know that your red hair is masking your face (and where it isn’t, luisa’s hand _is_). whoever they are, they stand and stare long enough to give a _yuck_ sound before continuing on.

when the sounds end, luisa pulls back just enough to give you a smile. “i think that worked.”

“i think it did.” you brush her hair out of her face and smile. “what do you think we should do now?”

luisa’s head tilts to one side. “you should come back to my place,” she says with a smug grin. “they won’t even guess to look for you there.”

you _grin_. “that sounds like a _great_ idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> luisa, at some point: rose, can you make your hair blonde?  
rose: uh, yeah?  
luisa, a few seconds later: /nope, nope, change it back./


	31. halloween and mia and birthdays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also unprompted but HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

“Is everyone celebrating for Mommy’s birthday?” Mia glanced up towards Luisa with her big brown eyes wide. She blinked a couple of times, twisting and twirling in her princess dress, hands clutching the edge of her bright purple skirt. “Is that why everyone’s getting all dressed up?”

“No, dear,” Luisa said, kneeling down and cupping her daughter’s cheek. “It’s Halloween. Everyone dresses up on Halloween. It’s a day where they get to be someone else, and—”

“Your mama’s lying to you,” Rose whispered, bending down and resting her head just on her daughter’s shoulder. “They’re celebrating my birthday. They just don’t know it.” Her eyes lifted to meet Luisa’s, and she grinned. “How else would people celebrate the _evil Sin Rostro_ if not by putting on masks and pretending to be someone else?”

“Mommy?” Mia turned to face Rose. “Does everyone _know_ your birthday is today?”

Rose’s gaze moved from her daughter, to Luisa, who wore a smug smirk on her face, and then back to Mia. “No, they don’t. But it’s like Christmas.”

“Santa’s birthday!”

“No,” Luisa shook her head, “that’s not—”

“_Exactly._” Rose met Luisa’s eyes and winked. “Not everyone celebrates Christmas because it’s someone’s birthday. Some people celebrate it because they like the time with their families. But the people who _celebrate_ the birthday—”

“_—Jesus’ birthday—_”

“—think that’s the most important part of it. They think _everyone_ should focus on that, instead of just taking the time for family.” Rose tapped the tip of Mia’s nose. “But I don’t think that. Everyone can celebrate my birthday or whatever they want to celebrate on my birthday and I just benefit by getting a lot of free candy.” She grinned. “And so do you.”

“I like Christmas presents better.”

Rose’s grin faded, and she gave a nod as Luisa laughed behind their daughter. “Of course, you do.” She reached forward and brushed her hand through Mia’s red curls – a darker shade than her own, but still just as red – and cupped her cheek. “You like waking us up super early in the morning and seeing what Santa brought you because—”

“I never know what Santa brings me!” Mia’s arms cross over the crisscrossed golden brown stitching across the front of her princess dress. “I’m good at guessing what’s under the tree. Even in a box.”

Truth be told, Mia wasn’t necessarily good at guessing; Rose was just good at _listening_ to her guess and then filling the box with the _correct_ present and taking the other one out and having Santa give it to her instead. Luisa didn’t much like this way of doing things, but Rose liked to reward Mia for guessing – and to make Mia think that her parents weren’t as smart as they were when it came to presents so that they could use it for a huge payoff later. Not that she’d decided what that huge payoff would be, but having the option for one was _such_ a good idea.

“You never know what candy you’ll get when you go trick-or-treating either.”

Mia pouted, her lips pursing together. “It all gets mixed together and it’s all chocolate or sour stuff and I don’t like the sour stuff and then you steal it from me.”

Rose’s eyes flick up to Luisa ever so slightly. “I don’t _steal_ it. You give it to me as a present. For my birthday.” Then she leans forward to kiss Mia’s forehead. “I think it’s time for me to go get into my costume.” She brushes her hands along her jeans – _jeans!_ she hadn’t worn them for such a long time before she and Luisa had run away together, and now they seemed to be all she wore, which was perhaps a downside to her auto mechanic job (one of few) – and leans back on her feet before standing. She leans forward and kisses the corner of Luisa’s lips. “Don’t worry. I have a good costume this year.”

She’d started having to hide them. Mostly because Luisa doesn’t like most of her costumes – _masks_, really – and finds places and ways to creatively hide them and replace them with outfits that she wants Rose to wear instead. Like the year Luisa went as Snow White and Rose went as the Evil Queen. _Which had been nice, of course_ because Luisa had gone the extra mile to get them specific period pieces with corsets – _and she had really, really liked unlacing Luisa’s corset once Mia was asleep, and Luisa had—_

There aren’t corsets this year. In fact, it is still a couple’s costume affair because she’s _seen_ what Luisa has in store for her birthday and _expects_ Luisa to wear a much more family friendly costume of the same character. If not, well, at least _she_ would still be comfortable. She pulls on her leather vest, holsters her (admittedly _fake_) blaster, and strides out into the living room with a smug look on her face.

Luisa’s eyes widen and her mouth starts to drop open until she just as quickly closes it again. “You saw my costume.”

“_I saw my present._”

Mia’s eyes narrowed. “_What_ present? Do _I_ get a present?”

“On your birthday, dear,” Luisa says, placing a hand on Mia’s shoulder and holding her in place. “Now you two stay in here while I go change.”

Rose grins, and it’s much more smug than she thinks Luisa would expect. “Of course.”

It’s late when they get back from trick-or-treating, and later still before Mia has been wrangled through her bath (to get off all the glitter from her costume and the bright rouge spots on her cheeks) and into bed (and _later still_ before Mia has actually fallen asleep, after she finally crashes from eating far, _far_ too much sugar). There have been a lot of compliments for the little redheaded princess – _Magical princess!_ Mia would correct, pointing to a lot of the sparkles and the little unicorn horn-shaped white wand she carried with her – and a lot of eyes that turned from the classical medieval princess to the _space_ princess and her scruffy-looking nerfherder rebel _not_ prince with an acknowledgment and a not completely innocent look.

Rose _knew_ she rocked the Han look better than Luisa rocked the white robed and bunned hair Leia look, but that didn’t stop her from loving the stares. They were an attractive couple. They _are_ an attractive couple.

Luisa tells her to wait for a few moments, and Rose pulls off her _huge_ black boots, sets them neatly on the floor in their closet with all the other costume shoes (far too many, _far too many_), and then jumps on the bed, grins at the littlest it of give as she lands, and settles herself against the headboard, half laying down and half propped up against it, more _reclining_ or _lounging_ than anything. She begins to play with the edges of her vest until she hears the bathroom door slam open. Then she looks up, and her breath stops for a brief moment. She has to take a deeper one to steady herself.

“How do I look?” Luisa asks, her lips spreading into a grin that is _meant_ to be smug – and _completely is_, even if it might not be—

Rose isn’t sure how to put _how Luisa looks_ into words.

She knew when she saw the gold bikini hanging up what Luisa intended to give her as a present for her birthday. It isn’t as though they haven’t talked about it before: they were both born during the Star Wars generation and grew up with Leia as a role model; it wasn’t until later that Rose realized she was much more like Han than she was like Leia. The idea of going as the two for Halloween was an old one, although they hadn’t gotten around to it until today.

But whatever Rose _thought_ about how Luisa might look in that outfit had somehow never been able to live up to how she _actually_ looks _right now_.

Luisa’s thick hair is pulled into the customary dark braid, which is draped across her breast. The gold feels accented against the warm golden brown of her skin, still carrying the darker tint from her summer tan (which didn’t really go away when they were in Miami but likely would now that they have settled down somewhere else, somewhere that has seasons and autumn and falling leaves). She sashays her hips the slightest bit as she walks barefoot over to the bed, and her hazel eyes twinkle as Rose swallows. “You’re speechless? _Wow._ I must really look like something special.”

“You _always_ look like something special,” Rose purrs, as she moves forward across the bed to meet her. “You just look _extra_ special right now.”

“Oh, I do?” Luisa crawls on hands and knees onto the bed and meets Rose just in the middle of their _way too big for normal people_ mattress.

Rose nods. “I don’t think I have to tell you how much you do.”

Luisa brushes her nose against Rose’s. “No, you don’t.” She grins. “But you might be rewarded for it.”

“_Later_,” Rose murmurs, and she knows that her eyes are growing dark as she leans forward, her lips brushing against Luisa’s but not committing just yet. “I can tell you later.” Her hand reaches forward to curve around Luisa’s neck as she finally leans forward to kiss her. “I love you.”

“I know.” Luisa runs her hand along the strap still holding the fake blaster in place. “Do you mind if I—?”

“_Not at all._”

Their lips meet again as Luisa removes the strap and the blaster from their place on Rose’s thigh, and again more hungrily as she begins to unbuckle the belt around her waist, pulling her shirt out from where it’s been tucked into her pants. Rose leans forward, pushing Luisa onto her back, and Luisa’s hands move to push the black vest off of her, throwing it to one side of the bed. Then she pulls away just enough to look at Rose – and Rose can see how dark her eyes are – but Luisa _grins_. “Without the vest and the blaster, you look kind of like a pirate.”

“So I can be a pirate,” Rose said, pressing a kiss to the side of Luisa’s neck, grinning as Luisa giggled, “and you can be my treasured gold.”

“Is that a better fantasy?”

Rose pulls away just enough to let her head tilt to one side. She pretends to consider it for a moment then shakes her head. “No. Not at all.” Then she waits as Luisa’s hands move to curl through her red hair. “Unless _you_ think—”

“Han Solo is fifteen times better than any bloody pirate.”

Rose grins. “You’ve got _that_ right.”


	32. it's fall and falling leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU THOUGHT THE LAST ONE WOULD BE THE LAST ONE.
> 
> YOU WERE WRONG!

A deeply held breath makes its way through Rose’s lips as she rakes the last of the fallen leaves into its pile. Her muscles ache – and _not_ in a good way – and she rubs a hand along her sweat-covered brow, pushing it through her curls. She wants a drink more than just about anything right now, something cold and soothing. It doesn’t matter that the weather’s gotten cooler outside as the leaves fell; all the work has gotten her tired and _thirsty_. Her eyes sweep the yard for any remaining leaves she might have missed, and on seeing none, she smiles. _Done._ She’s _done_.

There’s a minor swoosh sound followed by a thunk as the back door to their little house slides open. Luisa stands just in the doorway, and Mia, their curly haired, freckle-covered, redheaded daughter, pushes past her and runs toward her mother. Rose bends down to pick her up in her arms—

Mia runs _past her_ and jumps into the huge pile of leaves with a loud scream, scattering them everywhere again.

Rose stands there and stares at her daughter, who rises giggling from within the pile, and throws handfuls of leaves around her before jumping into the pile again. She clenches her jaw, gritting her teeth together, trying to keep herself from saying anything. But it’s _hard_ to not snap. It’s while she’s taking another deep breath that she feels a hand tap her shoulder, and she turns to see her wife standing just behind her with a huge smile on her face.

“Is something wrong?”

Instead of saying anything, Rose presses her lips together. She wordlessly gestures to where her rake leans against the nearest tree and then to their daughter, who continues to jump through the pile and spread the leaves everywhere that she’d taken so long and worked so hard to rake together. It’s better, in her mind, to not say anything, because she knows she’ll just _snap_, and that wouldn’t be fair to their daughter, who…really isn’t doing anything wrong.

Even if it is _exceedingly_ frustrating.

“She’s really cute, isn’t she?” Luisa leans up on her tiptoes and rests her chin on Rose’s shoulder. She kisses where the muscle of Rose’s clenched jaw quivers, despite the scowl still marring her wife’s face. “I think one of us should join her.”

“_What?_”

Rose can’t keep the venom out of her voice, her brows shooting up as she turns to fully face her wife. But just as she turns, Luisa gives her a gentle push, and Rose stumbles backwards, trips over the edge of her rake, and, arms wheeling, collapses into what remains of her pile of leaves. She splutters, head popping back up out of the pile, and she glares at Luisa, who just grins and waves, wiggling her fingers at her. Before she can move further, a great handful of leaves is dowsed on her head, and she looks up to see her wild, redheaded daughter standing over her with a huge grin on her face.

“Mama’s gonna play with me, too?”

“Yeah, Mama’s gonna—” Rose _stops_ all at once, and her lips spread into a wicked grin. She turns away from Mia to focus on Luisa, who begins to back away from her, hands out with her palms facing her.

“_No._” Her eyes widen and she continues to back up. “_No._”

But she can’t stop Rose from grabbing her wrist and pulling her back. This time, Luisa stumbles the same way Rose did, and she falls forward on top of her. Rose wraps her arms around her wife, who pops up as quickly as she can, spitting bits of leaves out of her mouth. “You,” she says, eyes meeting Rose’s, “_suck_.”

“You pushed me first.”

“Hm. You’re right.” Luisa brushes one of Rose’s curls out of her face then picks bits of leaf out of it. “I did.” Then she looks up at their daughter, who has promptly ignored them and gone back to stomping on some of the leaves and turning them into little crumbs before bundling them in her arms again. “_We should get her_,” she whispers, lifting one finger to hold it to her lips. Then she started crawling towards their unsuspecting daughter.

Rose considers this for a moment then, with a sigh, gives in. She’s going to have to rake the leaves up again anyway. Might as well have fun while she can.

* * *

Rose stands beneath the spray of her shower, letting the hot water hit her aching body. She’s _already_ sore, which does not speak well for tomorrow. If anything, she’s certain that she won’t be able to move. She doesn’t even want to _imagine_ having to rake all of the leaves again. Not like this.

She sighs as she turns to face the spray, then she turns back when she hears the tap of feet behind her. A smile crosses her lips as Luisa joins her followed by a soft moan. “Not right now, baby. I _hurt_.”

“I know.” Luisa steps forward and presses a gentle kiss to the edge of Rose’s jaw. “Let me help.”

Then Luisa turns Rose to face the spray again and begins to very gently massage her back. When Rose can’t suppress the low groan that creeps through her lips, Luisa leans forward and kisses the tip of her shoulder blade. “That feel good?”

“Mmmmmm.”

After a few minutes longer, Luisa sits Rose down on the seat they’d added when she was pregnant and having trouble standing for long periods of time. Then she sits in her lap and wordlessly begins to wash Rose’s hair, massaging her fingers along her scalp. “You just stay right here,” she murmurs, “and I’ll take care of you. For being such a good wife.”

Rose nods once and lets Luisa continue with her business, moving only when she is directed. Her wife’s fingers are gentle as they soothe the aches and pain of her sore muscles, and Rose can’t help the soft sounds of contented release she makes as Luisa eases her pain.

When they’re finally done, Luisa leads her wife out of the shower, wraps her in warm towels, and guides her to the bed, where she massages lotion into her skin until it seems to glow. Then she smiles. “Better?”

Rose nods. “I think I could fall asleep right here.”

Luisa kisses her forehead and stretches out on the bed next to her, curling up against her chest. “Mia was asleep before I found you. We don’t have to move.”

“Then let’s not,” Rose says, brushing her fingers through Luisa’s wet hair. “And tomorrow?”

“Hm?”

“_You_ rake the leaves.” Rose grins, pressing a kiss to Luisa’s cheek. “And then _I’ll_ take care of _you_.”

Luisa nods once in agreement. “You’ve got it.”


	33. New Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone. ^^

The clock tick-tick-_tick_ed in the adjoining room, each tick seeming a little louder than the one just before, and Rose shifted beneath Luisa’s soft, peach-colored blanket. She wasn’t paying attention to the loud excitement on the screen. In fact, she’d turned the television down after Luisa, bleary-eyed, had curled up and rested her head in her lap, after she’d felt Luisa give a final sigh and her breathing had slowed in that way that indicated she’d begun to dream.

Rose turned the page of her book. Her glasses slipped to the edge of her nose, and she pressed them back into position just as Luisa began to shiver against her. Without a second thought, she pulled the blanket closer around them. Luisa grabbed the blanket’s edge and curled closer against Rose’s thigh, and Rose began to brush her hand through Luisa’s wavy brown hair.

This was the first time they’d spent New Year’s Eve together.

Well, truth be told, it wasn’t the first time they’d been together on New Year’s Eve. Every year, Emilio had thrown a huge party at whichever hotel he thought needed the most publicity, and while Luisa might have had an option, she and Rafael had gotten into the habit of going to the parties long, long before she’d met Rose. It must have been when Rafael finally went to college; it was the one time a year where they could be together and not have to worry about _family friendly_ time over Christmas. Often they’d used it to relieve the stress of those holidays and poke fun at whoever their new stepmother was.

Rose caught them at it because Luisa had refused to play. Actually, she caught them because she’d been watching to make sure Luisa wouldn’t drink, something that Rafael hadn’t seemed too worried about, considering how many drinks he slammed down in quick succession, and something that Emilio might have planned for but not well enough, considering how many bottles of champagne seemed to be cascading around the room. It seemed like she was _less fun_ when she wasn’t drinking.

Emilio was busy with taking care of customers and making sure everyone was having a good time. Rose was expected to do the same, but on a much smaller scale, which meant she had significant free time. She could personally attest to the fact that Luisa wasn’t _less fun_ at all.

The last such party had been held at the Marbella to try and counteract the bad press from Zazo’s death and the whole Sin Rostro debacle, never guessing that their hosting the party meant that there was nowhere else Sin Rostro could be. Luisa hadn’t been there. Nothing else really mattered.

Rafael had tried to host another, similar one the next year, but it hadn’t seemed near as entertaining. He wasn’t very good at it. Certainly, he hadn’t put as much gusto into the party the way his father had all of theirs. All of the bad press from the previous year and the continuing bad press from _that_ year – thank Luisa for not keeping her mouth shut and having that article published – made people honestly believe the hotel was cursed, and not in a good way. Rafael hadn’t leaned into it.

And Susanna Barnett had still been trying to let Luisa live her own life, away from her, because that was, after all, what Luisa had chosen. She’d wanted to respect that. Sort of. She’d _tried_, at least.

This year, they’d holed up in a little apartment in Washington, in the middle of nowhere. Luisa had wanted to be stateside, but it was too soon for Rose to feel completely comfortable returning to anywhere along the East Coast. Washington was as far away from Florida as they could get without heading to Alaska, which was out of the question. Luisa couldn’t handle the cold. She had a hard enough time _here_ without going even further north. Hopefully, next year they would be able to go to Time Square itself, which, admittedly, Rose knew Luisa had already done (and Rose had herself), but there was something special about the idea of going together.

But that was next year. This year, they’d turned the live coverage on – it wasn’t quite live, because the local company was broadcasting it to their time instead of New York’s – and, within moments, Luisa had ended up like this, curled up against Rose, blanket pulled up around her, softly snoring every so often. Rose had pulled out her most recent read, brushing her hand through Luisa’s curls, and read while she waited.

It wouldn’t be long now.

“Luisa.”

Rose put a thin yellow ribbon on her book page and then placed her book on the coffee table. Luisa didn’t move. She bent down, shifting just enough for Luisa to make a displeased little sound, and then tucked her girlfriend’s hair back just enough so that she could press a little kiss just above her ear.

“_Luisa._ It’s time to wake up.”

Luisa’s face scrunched up. “Five more minutes.”

Rose laughed. “Tomorrow. If you wait now, you’ll miss the ball drop.” She gave her another little kiss. “C’mon.”

At the mention of the ball drop, Luisa struggled to sit up. She rubbed her hand under her eyes, and as the blanket fell from around her, she scooted closer to Rose until she was practically sitting in her lap. “How much longer?”

“Two minutes,” Rose said as she lifted the soft peach blanket and wrapped it around Luisa’s shoulders. “You think you can stay awake that long?”

Luisa nodded, hiding her head in the crook of Rose’s neck. “I can stay awake.” She blinked a few times so that her lashes brushed against Rose’s skin.

Rose shivered. “_That’s_ not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war, right? It’s a good way to stay awake.” Luisa grinned and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Rose’s neck.

“_Stop._” Rose ran her fingers very softly along Luisa’s skin, waiting for her girlfriend’s giggle.

There wasn’t long to wait; Luisa began to snort almost immediately, and she moved away from Rose’s touch, batting her with one hand. “_You_ stop!”

Before Rose could say anything, the people on the screen began to count down – those last few seconds, just before the year would change over. She leaned forward, taking Luisa’s hands in her own and tangling their fingers together. “Here’s to the new year.”

Luisa moved to brush her nose against Rose’s. “I love you.”

The words caught in Rose’s throat, and she mouthed them once, her lips brushing against Luisa’s, before she said, finally, her voice so soft she knew that no one other than Luisa could hear it, “I love you, too.”

Luisa smiled, and as the countdown finally reached one, she pressed forward, giving Rose a chaste kiss. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” Rose echoed, and she kissed Luisa a little more properly. Then she moved just enough to turn the television off before leaning back against the sofa. “Now you can have your _five more minutes_.”

Luisa stared at her. “What if I don’t _want_ those anymore?” But she lay down atop Rose anyway, curling up against her and resting her head against her chest. She pressed another kiss against Rose’s neck. “May this year be better than the last.”

“Much better.” Rose kissed the top of Luisa’s head. “We’re getting our happy ending. There can’t be anything better than that.”


End file.
